


Oklahoma Skies

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Kinda sorta western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22641859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: A death in the family forces Gibbs to come home and face the past, only to learn the return promises a better future. AU. Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 226
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A caveat: my wife is from Oklahoma, so I know a lot about the area and the people. But I don't know anything about cattle ranches! Did a lot of research to try and make it authentic as possible, but I do apologize for any factual errors.
> 
> Like the NASCAR fic, this is an absolute AU, an absolute parallel to canon. That being said, I tried to keep what makes the characters who they are still canon- their strength, their vulnerabilities, etc. I hope I've succeeded in doing that.
> 
> My thanks to jenni3penny for pushing.
> 
> For my wife. The reason God made Oklahoma. ;)

The phone call came at 3 in the morning, as those kinds of calls often did, and he was on the road 2 hours later. His pickup truck ate up the miles that a flight would've made in a third of the time, but the drive gave him time to think, time to get mentally prepared. When the landscape opened up and the first cow greeted him with a droll gaze, he knew the trip could've taken him 10 times as long and he still wouldn't have been ready. Acres of land that Gene Autry might've referred to as 'golden' or 'amber' only seemed yellow to him, a flat straw yellow dotted with thick-limbed trees that never in all his years seemed to be anything other than bare. His mother's death in his teens and his football scholarship to OU were his 2 tickets out, and in 40 years, he'd never found 1 reason to go back.

Until the phone call.

It wasn't unexpected, and yet he wasn't quite ready, ready to say goodbye to his dad, ready to say hello to his memories. The Chevy rolled under the iron wrought 'Gibbs' that arced over the long dirt road leading to the ranch, and the sprawling one-level house was the only thing to greet him besides a patchwork dog that scrambled to its feet and ran to the truck. Gibbs threw it into 'park' and swung his legs out, his feet touching Oklahoma soil for the first time in almost 4 decades. His hand brushed across the dog's nose, wet and eager to meet the new stranger. Gibbs' blue eyes scanned the open land until it met the horizon, gave the dog another ruffle, then went inside. 

The house was quiet and cool and little had changed in 40 years. The small entrance still housed the same wooden key holder to the right of the door, still had the dense straw mat that had been used by a hundred boots. Still had the goddamn Heisman on a table under the key holder. Even the smell was the same, a mixture of cow and chow, and he wondered who was doing the cooking these days. The living room to the left opened up to another room that had always been 'The Mahogany'. 

_'Has anyone seen Jackson?'_

_'Check The Mahogany.'_

He lost track of how many times he'd seen his dad behind the desk he was so proud to have special ordered. Gibbs stopped in his tracks when he saw someone else in the chair. 

The man looked up from a sea of paperwork and Gibbs could almost see his eyes change from annoyed to surprised. 

“Leroy!” He stood and extended his hand. “Blake. Blake Wilson.”

Gibbs quickly put the surname to something more familiar, and shook the younger man’s hand. “Cal Wilson’s son?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cal Wilson had been on the ranch since Gibbs could remember, and the son must’ve seen the recognition because he added, “I took over for Daddy about 5 years ago. Knees are gone.”

Like the landscape, the language was a reminder of where he was. _‘Daddy’_ was up there with _‘fixin’ to’_ and _‘I’ll tell you what’_ and _‘kin’_ on the list of words he had phased out of his vocabulary, either by force or by habit. 

Nodding, he said, “He’s a good man.”

“That he is.” Blake turned to pour a drink, one for each, and asked, “How was the flight?”

“Drove in.”

The bottle briefly paused its pour. “At least you made it in time for the funeral.” Gibbs only hummed his reply. When he saw Gibbs glancing at the spread of papers across the desk, he said, “I didn’t realize how much ranch work was behind a desk until I took over from Daddy. Sometimes I feel more like a secretary than a ranch hand.” He held out the glass for Gibbs. “But you don’t gotta worry about that. I mean, until the will’s read and all that. Jackson took care of everything this last year.”

The whiskey offered a comforting burn down his throat. “Didn’t know he was sick.”

“He wasn’t. Figured he just felt Father Time catching up to him, like he does with us all. Just wanted to make sure everything was taken care of.”

“So what is it you’re doin’?”

Blake shrugged. “Just some last details he signed off on. Some acquisitions of a few ranches in the area he wanted to buy. Over the last 2 years, he’s brought 3 into the fold, almost doubled our size. Can’t compete with the big boys in Texas, naturally, but we’re the 2nd biggest ranch in Oklahoma.”

Blake had enough pride in his voice for the both of them; Gibbs simply nodded. 

“Where're the boundaries now?” he asked.

The ranch hand pushed aside some papers and revealed a map that covered the entire desk top. Lines had been drawn in several colours as more and more land was bought. Blake tapped his finger on the plastic that protected the map.

“Started like this,” he said, circling the green outline, “but we pulled in these 3 ranches which stretches our line to the Sapaneechee creek and the old highway.” 

Gibbs looked down at the red lines of the new land. With more than a little surprise in his voice, he noted, “The Sloane Ranch still there?”

Blake scoffed. “Damn Sloane women. Stubborn as mules. I gave them a damn good offer for their land and they’ve refused, time and time again.”

The pronoun caught Gibbs’ attention. “You?”

“Well, I mean ‘we’. The ranch. We gave a more than fair bid but they’ve got their heels stuck in.”

“Will Sloane not around?”

“Nah. Passed on a few years ago.”

Finishing off the whiskey, Gibbs put down the glass beside the framed photo of Blake and Jackson. “Got a horse in the stable?”

The change in topic momentarily caught Blake off-guard. “Yeah, sure. The first three on the right hand side are all rideable. Why?”

“Figured I’d take a look at what we’ve done with the ranch.” He purposely stressed the possessive before shaking Blake’s hand again. “Dinner still at 6?”

“On the dot.”

Gibbs nodded and left, and Blake’s smile dropped into a frown.

…..

His dad might’ve stopped him from doing any kind of ranch work the minute he saw his son throw a football, but even after years of owning his own construction company, Gibbs could still sling a saddle over a horse. The tall beast stood patiently while it was strapped on and welcomed the stranger with an unperturbed swish of its tail. 

“Good girl,” he whispered against its cheek before slipping a foot into the stirrup and hoisting himself up. He was surprised at how good the reins felt in his hands, how comfortable he felt in the saddle as they started out in a brisk trot.

Decades might have passed, but he still knew the lay of the land like the back of his hand. At least, the lay of their original land. Once he got to their old boundaries, he decided to continue east, attempting to keep the setting sun at his back.

“Remind me to get a hat,” he told the horse as he pulled the baseball cap down lower. 

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to his eye except for a small dot in the distance that appeared to be a horse standing watch over a person crouched to the ground. Giving his horse a small encouraging heel, the trot sped up until the duo came into closer view. The two horses greeted each other silently and Gibbs waited for the woman to notice him. Because she was kneeling, he couldn’t tell much more than she was in jeans and a plaid shirt that was a better yellow than the surroundings. Her hat sat low on her forehead, head bowed as she tried to coax a calf to its feet.

“C’mon, you little shit. Move before someone makes steaks out of you!” His laughter and shadow startled her enough to make her jump. Protecting the calf, she said, “Please don’t shoot him. If you give me just 30 seconds, I can move him.”

The idea that she could move the stubborn animal in under a minute, when it was clear she had been trying for twice as long would’ve made him smirk had he not caught the first part of her plea. Gibbs frowned under his brim. “Shoot him?”

With the sun behind him, his face was shrouded in shade, but his voice sparked a flame of memory. Turning proper on the balls of her feet and standing, she tipped back her hat to get a better look.

“The Prodigal Son comes home,” she said, almost to herself.

He frowned at the fact she clearly knew him but he couldn’t say the same about her. “Do I know you?”

“No,” she replied, wiping her hands on her jeans and re-assessing her situation with the calf. 

But he wouldn’t let it go that easily, and it only took an extra second to make the connection. “Jacqueline Sloane.” He shifted in his seat to lean against the saddle horn. The last time he had seen her, she was a spitfire who lit up the local rodeo shows, pigtails and eyes blazing. “Shit. Is that you?”

Her face scrunched up at the name. “Only my mother calls me that. Leroy.” Her laugh at the end make it clear she knew he preferred ‘Jethro’ and she winked. “Funny how they never used that on any of those college games you called.”

“You know who I am.” It was a statement not a question.

“Everyone knows who you are.” It was half-teasing, half-accusatory, but both were softened when she added, “I’m sorry about your dad.”

He tipped his head at the condolence. “You, too. Will was a good man.”

“Was he?” She didn’t elaborate but instead turned her attention back to the calf. “So you’ll let me take him home?”

That was the second time she implied otherwise. “Why wouldn’t I? He’s yours, isn’t he?”

“Hasn’t stopped anyone in the past.”

“Whattya mean?”

Again, she didn’t elaborate except to say, “Ask your ranch chief. And tell him if he'd get that hole in the fence fixed near the big oak, we wouldn't have this problem." 

'The big oak' only ever meant one tree, and he squinted 40 yards into the distance along the fence line. Sure enough, a post had been uprooted by wind or storm and was leaning far enough over that cattle could easily cross. And did, based on the one at her feet.

"I'll get it done."

She appeared surprised at his immediate promise, and rather than reply, she gave the calf a gentle slap on the rump and implored, “Can we please get going, your majesty?” 

Had the animal been a person, Gibbs would’ve sworn he’d seen it shrug as it got to its feet.

She threw up her hands and praised to the skies. “Hallelujah! Let’s go, you little shit.” Pulling herself up into her saddle, she nudged her horse with her knee and touched her hat. “Welcome home.” She seemed to debate which name to give him and settled on a playful, “Cowboy.”

…..

The only one to greet him back at the house was the dog who offered a welcoming bark. Feeling slightly out of place in his own home, Gibbs dug his keys out of his pocket and walked to the truck where the dog eagerly waited. He looked down at the one blue, one brown eyed animal. 

"Ya got somethin' ya need to pick up in town?" The bark he got in return made Gibbs smile. Opening the driver's door, he jerked his head inside the cab. "Get in, then." When the dog complied, he added, "But I'm drivin'."

…..

'In town' was really just a mile stretch of highway with buildings and shacks on either side, both in various stages of deterioration. Nothing ever seemed to be new, only less worse than something else. Signs that weren't hand painted on windows had letters hanging or missing, turning 'FEED' into an ironically appropriate 'FED', considering how much of the town had gone from the highs of the 80s oil boom to the lows of the modern economy. He let the dog into the back of the pickup with a stern order to stay before taking the two steps into the store. The screened door squeaked on its hinges, announcing his arrival before the bells overhead did. A plaid-shirted man with a John Deere hat came out from the back.

“Well, shit.” The older man shuffled in his cowboy boots and stuck out a hand. “If it isn’t Leroy Gibbs!”

“Tom,” Gibbs replied, recognizing the man immediately. Tom Dawson had owned the local hardware store since Gibbs could remember. He looked exactly the same as he did 40 years ago, except he had exchanged his jet black hair for white, and Gibbs said as much.

Lifting up the ball cap and scratching his head, Tom agreed with a grin. “The wife likes it.” Dropping the hat back on his head in the way old men did, barely resting on top of his hair, he squinted at Gibbs. “I see your hair’s gone the same. I’ll hafta keep you away from Betty.”

Gibbs grinned. “How _is_ your wife?”

Shrugging, Tom answered, “As good as can be expected for an old bird. Don’t tell her I said that.” They shared a small laugh before he said, “Sorry ‘bout Jackson, Leroy.” Gibbs only hummed his reply. “Ranch won’t be the same without him. Unless you’re takin’ over?”

Gibbs knew gossip was gold in a small town and he wasn’t ready to be the subject of it; his return was fodder enough. “We’ll see. Will’s bein’ read tomorrow, after the funeral.”

The fact that Gibbs didn’t immediately answer in the positive made Tom’s bushy eyebrows go up. “You thinkin’ of sellin’?”

“Tom,” Gibbs warned.

“Alright, alright. Just promise me whatever happens, you’re not handing it over to Blake Wilson.”

It was the second time someone had alluded to the ranch hand in a negative way. 

“What’s wrong with Blake Wilson?”

Before the shop owner could answer, the bells above the door chimed, effectively cutting off the conversation.

“Pete,” Dawson greeted.

“Tom.” A big man in a sheriff’s uniform narrowed his eyes at Gibbs, clearly searching for a name to the face. “Leroy Gibbs?”

The connection didn’t come to Gibbs as fast as it had come to the new arrival. “Yep.”

“Pete. Pete Ripley. I was-”

“My center." Gibbs stuck out his hand and prepared himself for the bone-crushing handshake. He was not disappointed. "Got so used to seein’ your ass in high school, I didn’t recognize your face.”

“You wouldn’t recognize my ass anymore, either,” the big man said. “Doc told me if I didn’t lose 100 pounds, I’d be dead by 40. So, here I am.” He held out his hands. A hundred pounds on an average man might have made him look smaller, but on a 6’4” behemoth, it somehow made him look even larger.

“You’re still a goddamn giant, Rips,” Gibbs said.

“Doc wants me down to 220, but I just can’t give up the biscuits and gravy. Hey, you’re probably tired of hearing it, but sorry about your dad. He gave me a job on the ranch a while back. It’s what helped me get healthy.”

“Why aren’t ya on the ranch now?” Gibbs asked.

Something flickered behind Pete’s eyes. “Ah. Once Blake took over, well, let’s just say I figured it was best to make my way down the road, like they say. Then the sheriff’s position came up, and here I am.”

“Someone gonna fill me in on the problem with Blake Wilson?” Gibbs asked. When Pete and Tom looked at each other, he pinned his old teammate with a steely stare.

“It’s nothing,” Pete said, though he contradicted himself almost immediately. “Things haven’t been the same since Cal stepped down and your dad let Blake take over.”

“What kinda things?” Gibbs caught the uncomfortable glance given to Tom. “I’m not gonna say anything, Pete. Just tryin’ to get a handle on what I need to know.”

“S’probably nothin’ more than us old farts not likin’ change.” It was Tom who spoke up instead of Pete. “Cal’s kid came out of OU with a business degree and a head full of ideas. New things rub old people the wrong way. You know how it is.”

Gibbs considered the words. “These new things include buyin’ up surrounding ranches?” Another look was shared between Pete and Tom. “I saw the map.”

“He’s not just buying them,” Pete said. “He’s making it awfully hard for people to say ‘no’.”

Remembering Blake’s words, Gibbs said, “The Sloanes’ haven’t sold.”

Tom threw his head back and laughed. “Oh, he’s tryin’, but they won’t budge. I love those women.”

Happy to have a chance to shift the topic, Pete asked, “Wait ‘til you see Jacqueline. Time has been real kind to her.”

“I’ve been told she doesn’t like to be called ‘Jacqueline’,” Gibbs said.

Tom’s eyebrow quirked. “So you _have_ seen her.”

Gibbs nodded. “She’s the reason I’m here, gossipin’ with two old women. Lookin’ to fix a fence up near the old oak.”

“You’re here for business? Shit, why didn’t you say?” Tom slapped the counter. 

“I was here for business,” Pete all but pouted.

“Pshah,” Tom scoffed, waving his hand at Pete. “You buy a dozen nails and talk my ear off for 2 hours.” To Gibbs, he said, “Pull the truck up to the back. Got just what you need.”

The trip was a short one around to the other side of the building, and Gibbs helped Tom toss the galvanized fencing into the back while Pete hoisted the 8 foot post onto the truck bed. 

"Ya got a post shovel?" Tom asked. 

"Don't know what I got," Gibbs admitted. "Throw a sledge hammer and a crimp wrench on the bill."

"Will do," he replied. "Back in a jiffy."

While he was gone, Pete jerked his chin at the dog. "That Blake's dog?"

Gibbs shrugged. "Dunno. He didn’t say." 

His look indicated he meant the dog, not the man, and Pete laughed.

"Think his name's Bullet or something stupid." He looked at the dog. "Bullet!"

Though the ears perked up, Gibbs snorted. Taking his turn, he barked out, "Blue 22!" and when the dog barked back, he smirked at Pete as if to say, 'I told ya'.

"Blue 22," Pete remembered wistfully. "That play won us the state championship. 3rd and 28, down by 6 with less than a minute left in the game. Remember that?"

"I remember we were 3rd and 28 because you didn't block the middle linebacker from puttin' me on my ass on 2nd down."

"Not my fault you couldn’t scramble for shit." Gibbs' glare did nothing to wipe the smile off Pete's face. "Those were the days, huh?"

Privately, he wondered why he couldn't remember them as fondly. Outwardly, he wasn’t going to take the shine away from an old friend. "Yep." He was saved from further reminisces when Tom showed up with the shovel, the hammer and the wrench. 

"Jesus, Tom," Pete said, rushing to the man's side. "How about you ask for help next time?"

"How about you let an old man kick your ass? I can handle it."

Gibbs watched from his lean against the truck. "What do I owe ya, Tom?"

He brushed off the question. "I started ya a tab. You can come in on Monday and sort it. Got other things on your mind, I imagine."

"Yeah," Pete winked. "Like Jack Sloane."

The two men hooted at Gibbs' dismissive wave. "C'mon, Blue. Some of us have work to do."

The dog barked and hopped into the truck cab.

…..


	2. Chapter 2

…..

Though he didn’t come from a large family, dinner around the Gibbs table always seemed to be full of people, of friends, neighbours, ranch hands. But now it was deathly quiet as the ageless Valerie set the biscuit plate beside the rest of the offerings and told both Gibbs and Blake to eat up before it got cold. Even Blake commented on the quiet.

“Not used to your daddy not bein’ at the table,” he admitted, reaching for the potatoes. 

Gibbs cut into his steak -rare, just the way he liked it. He made a mental note to thank Valerie for remembering. “The Montgomerys don’t come around anymore?”

“Nah. Samantha and Kurt both went off to school last year and, well, after we bought their farm-” He let the rest speak for itself.

Gibbs remembered the map. “Guessin’ the Reeds and the Edgewaters feel about the same.”

Blake shrugged, spreading a liberal amount of butter on his biscuit. “We did the best we could to not sow bad feelings, but it’s understandable they’d be sore. But we offered them more than a fair deal, especially after two seasons of nearly gettin’ drowned out by the rain.”

“Still tryin’ to get my head around Jackson wantin’ all that cattle.”

“Not the cattle he wanted, Leroy.” He didn’t notice how the name made Gibbs bristle. “It’s the land. Two of those ranches are sittin’ on some pretty big natural gas deposits. Already got offers by half dozen of the state’s natural gas companies.”

“Fracking.” There was no mistake in Gibbs’ tone as to what he thought of the practice.

“Welcome to a world where we’re runnin’ out of energy sources,” Blake said, his reply just on the edge of condescension. 

“And the Sloane ranch?”

“They got more than all three ranches combined. But they won’t sell.”

Gibbs brought a beer to his lips. “Surprised they didn’t sell after Will died.”

Blake snorted. “Shit. If anythin’, they dug in harder. Everyone and their dog knows Will mortgaged and gambled that ranch to within an inch of its life. Our offer coulda paid everythin’ and more. Stupid women.” Even he could see he had gone a step too far. “Anyway,” he went on, waving his own beer bottle, “they’ll come around. They always do.”

Valerie re-entered the room, effectively ending the conversation. “How’s everything?”

“Delicious as always, Miss Valerie,” Blake grinned.

Gibbs smiled warmly. “Steak was perfect.”

She touched his shoulder and gave him a half-hug. “Oh, we missed you around here, LJ. You up for pecan pie?”

“Check my pulse if I ever say ‘no’, Vee.”

“Alright,” she beamed. “Let me just clear some of these plates and I’ll be right back. You still drink that black tar you call coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then it’s a good thing I just put a pot on.”

Blake wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. “If you don’t mind, Miss Valerie, I’ll pass tonight. Jackson’s lawyer’s gonna want some last minute paperwork before tomorrow afternoon. Leroy.” He put on his hat and tipped the brim.

Valerie watched him go, then remarked, “Was it something I said?”

“Some men just don’t appreciate good pecan pie, ‘Miss Valerie’.” His drawl was a perfect imitation of the man who had just left the room.

“Now, don’t you be stirring up any shit. I can still tan your hide, young man.” When he didn’t reply, she wagged a finger. “And don’t flutter those blue eyes at me. That might work for the women in California, but that’s not going to play around these parts.” Her words did nothing to diminish his smirk. “Much.” She picked up some plates. “I’ll be right back.” 

He heard her mutter the word ‘incorrigible’ as she left the room.

…..

Tired and sore from the drive and the fence repair and regretting the second piece of pie, he grabbed his gear out of his truck and made his way to the third bedroom at the end of the hall and was immediately assaulted by memories. Like the Heisman in the entranceway, the room hadn’t changed in all the time he had been away. High school trophies and pictures, his scholarship offer from OU. Even the Roger Staubach jersey was still on the wall. Setting his jaw, he tossed his bag on the bed, turned from the room and went to the stable where he had seen some boxes earlier in the day. Grabbing two, he went back to the room and began tearing everything down.

…..

She always enjoyed a morning ride the best, when the day was damp with dew and bright with possibilities before the afternoon sun scorched everything bleach white. The air seemed cleaner somehow, fresher, and it filled her lungs and her heart. The horse’s casual trot only made it easier to enjoy the ride, its gentle sway a comfort she had known since she was a child. As she tipped her head back to welcome the sun on her face, something in the distance caught her eye. A gentle knee directed the horse to the left along the fence that separated her family’s ranch from the Gibbs line. Ignoring the inner voice that wondered how long that property line would remain, she came up alongside the old oak and let out a short surprised laugh that had her horse’s ear twitch. The hole in the fence that had been there for months -the hole that she had suspected had remained in order to have an excuse to confiscate her wayward cattle -had been repaired.

_Just like he had said._

Though she couldn’t see it, she looked towards the Gibbs house and felt lighter, even if only for a moment.

…..

Though a private man by nature, Gibbs knew enough social niceties to put aside his own irritations long enough to let people who knew and cared about his father to pay their respects, even if he suspected half of them were there to catch a glimpse of the county’s only claim to fame. If there was any consolation to be had, it was knowing the currency in getting photos of an ex-pro quarterback 30 years past his prime was pretty low, even if that QB had done TV work. Still, he had avoided getting caught by cellphones people thought they were cleverly hiding behind the memorial program and pretended not to hear the whispers as he walked up to the casket.

_“Blew out his knee in his 2nd season.”_

_“Hotshot moved to California, can you believe it?”_

_“Married four times!”_

_“Is he single now?”_

Now, back at the ranch, he deftly sidestepped the people who had gathered for the funeral repast, leaving Blake to keep them occupied while he slipped out the back door. The porch groaned under his weight, the wood well worn from years of traffic and contemplation. The dog’s movement near the stable saved Gibbs from the latter. 

“Blue!”

The dog’s ears perked up at the name, but rather than answer the call, he spun in a circle and wagged his tail at something that caught his attention in the stable. It was enough to pique Gibbs’ curiosity, and he slowly ambled over. A quiet shushing sound only made him more interested until he came around the corner and saw the ‘intruder’.

“Jacqueline.”

“Really?” she retorted.

“‘Jackie’?” Her expression gave him his first laugh of the day and he felt lighter for it. “Jack.”

“Gibbs.”

He tilted his head back and forth. “Wouldn’t mind if you called me ‘Jethro’.”

“Which is why I’m going to call you ‘Gibbs’.”

He flashed a charged smile between them and lazily asked, “See somethin’ you like?”

Her lips twitched at his confidence. Wiping a hand down the muzzle of a caramel coloured horse, she said, “Just thought I’d get some air. It’s been a pretty heavy day.” She heard her own words and cringed. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”

His shrug told her no apology was needed. “S’why I’m out here. Pretty sure the McCrimmon twins were about to ask me for a ‘selfie’.”

He said the word like he had just learned it, and now it was her turn to laugh.

“Well, you can’t really blame them, can you? You’re the closest thing to a celebrity this town has.” His frown faded her smile. “You don’t like that? Most guys would be all over it.”

He patted the horse’s flank to keep his eyes occupied elsewhere. “Guess I’m not most guys.”

“No,” she said, “you certainly are not.”

The soft conviction in her voice made him turn his attention from the horse. He was caught almost flat-footed by her candor and she must have seen it because she glanced at his side and said, “That’s Blake Wilson’s dog.” The animal playfully barked at her notice.

Thankful for the diversion, he smirked, “So everyone keeps tellin’ me.” He reached down and ruffled the dog’s head. “Should probably get inside. Eat some of that chicken fried steak before Cate Ripley gets offended.”

“Pretty sure Pete would take the bullet for you.”

Gibbs smiled. “Probably. You comin’?”

It took her a second to realize he was talking to her and not the dog. “Oh. Ah, I probably shouldn’t.”

“I know about Blake and his plans. That’s not gonna happen.”

“I might not have much of a choice. Mom’s getting up in age and Dad didn’t leave us in the best shape. It might come down to necessity over pride.” She knelt down to use the dog as a distraction.

He simply repeated, “That’s not gonna happen.”

Looking up from her position, she chuckled in disbelief. “Just like that, huh?”

“Yep.”

She stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Anyway. I should still go.”

He couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want her to leave. “An’ here I was hopin’ you’d run interference on the McCrimmon twins for me. Figured I coulda done the same with Jacob Moore.”

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “How did you-?”

“He’s why you’re out here, isn’t he?”

Her head lolled back and she sighed. “It was either that or knee him in the balls, and I figured I should show your father more respect than that.”

Gibbs let out a laugh through his nose. “Jackson would’ve gotten a kick outta that.” She laughed at her boots. “C’mon. Help me eat that chicken fried steak.”

“She _does_ make the best chicken fried steak in the county.”

“Let’s go, Blue,” Gibbs said, considering the matter closed. “You can help, too.”

“Pretty sure his name is ‘Bullet’.

“Is it?”

…..

If he thought he could sneak back into the house without anyone noticing, he thought wrong, but he was saved by Bob Russell, his father’s close friend and attorney. 

“There y’are,” the octogenarian boomed in his Oklahoma twang. “Was lookin’ all over for ya. There’s no good time to do this, so I thought y’all might want to get it outta the way.”

Gibbs knew he was referring to the will. “Yeah, okay.” Turning to Jack, he apologized with a look. “Stick around?”

“I can’t be held responsible for Jacob and his balls,” Jack warned, though her light touch on his arm was quiet compassion.

An intruder butted into the exchange. “What’s this about Jacob and his balls?”

Jack narrowed her eyes at Blake before turning to Gibbs. “I should go. Tell Cate I’m sorry I missed out on the chicken fried steak.”

Gibbs opened his mouth to argue but knew it wasn’t fair to ask her to stay in light of the current history with Blake. It was the old lawyer who did it for him.

“Actually, Miss Sloane, if I could ask you to stay?” Seeing her confused look, he smiled. “I’ve read the will. Your presence at the reading is requested.”

Forgetting decorum, Blake blurted, “Her? What for?”

Russell gave no quarter. “We’ll find out at the readin’, if we ever get to it.”

Gibbs held his hand out in the direction of The Mahogany. “Seems fitting.”

The four weaved their way through condolences and sympathies until they stepped into the office. Russell commandeered the big leather chair before Blake could claim it, and Gibbs ushered Jack inside with a gentle touch before closing the door behind him. He held out a chair for Jack and took one to her right. Russell removed some papers from his inside pocket, smoothed them out on the desk, slipped on his glasses and laid out his hands to call an informal order.

“Right,” he began, “so the legalese first- accordin’ to his papers, I’ve been chosen as executor of the will. So any disputes, questions an’ the like come through me until such a time that all papers have been filed and the courts consider the matter of Jackson Gibbs’ estate closed. That clear?” He waited for three nods before continuing, “Alright. Let’s get to the big stuff.” His brown eyes peered through the reading glasses that sat on the edge of his nose. “As per my last will and testament, I bequeath all properties under the ownership of Jackson Henry Gibbs and the items therein to my son, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, with the exception of 2 items which will be listed further in these papers. These properties include all current and historical properties established under the name of Jackson Henry Gibbs and/or Ann Marie Gibbs as well as all financial accounts under the aforementioned names.”

Though it didn’t come as a surprise to hear his name, there was a finality to it that caught him off-guard, as if he hadn’t quite come to terms with his father’s death until that very moment. Perhaps there was something in his expression, because he felt Jack’s hand on his arm, a touch that left as quickly as it arrived, leaving behind a warm strength.

“To Blake Wilson, I leave my season tickets to the Dallas Cowboys,” Russell went on, dry as the dust bowl. “To Jacqueline Sloane-”

“Wait,” Blake interrupted. “That’s it? Season tickets to the Cowboys?”

“Those can run you around $10,000.” Jack shrugged when Gibbs arched an eyebrow at her. “Just trying to help.”

Russell peered over his glasses, unimpressed by Blake’s outburst. “May I continue?” He didn’t wait for a confirmation. “To Jacqueline Sloane, I leave you my Winchester.” 

“Shit,” Gibbs whispered, though his tone was less accusatory than Blake’s. In fact, he found it amusing that the old man, who would never let him shoot the rifle when he was alive, would find a way to make sure he couldn’t shoot it now that he was dead.

“The only provision I attach to it is that you don’t sell it within 12 months of my passing. I would hope you wouldn’t consider selling it at all, which is why I also leave you 200 heads of cattle from the Gibbs stock. At your convenience, you may choose 100 heifers, 97 steer and 3 bulls. And finally, I also leave you-” Russell stopped mid-sentence and chuckled. “I also leave you the Heisman.”

Even Gibbs was taken aback. The trophy had meant little to him but everything to his dad, which is why he had given it to him in the first place. It wasn’t the thought of him giving it away that stood out; it was the fact he was giving it to Jack Sloane. He furrowed his brow at Jack who only shrugged her amused surprised.

“I have no idea,” she said to him.

“Should there be anything not covered in these papers, I ask they be sold and the money donated to the OKC Children’s Hospital. Let all legal matters be concluded no later than 31 days after this reading and let all matters pertaining to the ranch also be handled within that time frame. These are my wishes and I hope you will abide by them. Any arguments can be taken to my executor and friend, Robert J. Russell. I’d suggest not taking them up with Jacqueline Sloane- she has my Winchester now.”

Russell looked up and smiled. “That’s just like him, isn’t it?”

His audience wasn’t sure if he was referring to the Cowboy tickets, the Winchester or the Heisman. Or a combination of all three.

“Any questions?” Blake was too gobsmacked to reply and both Jack and Gibbs were sitting in various states of bemusement. “Well alright. I know this is a lot to take in,” he glanced at Blake, “so I suggest y’all sit back for a few days an’ let everythin’ settle. I’ve got some personal letters he wanted me to give each a ya, so I’ll do that now, but again, I’m askin’ ya to let everythin’ get right before we move forward with all the legal nonsense. Sound good?” The three nodded. “Alright.” Russell stood and grimaced at his old bones. Coming around the desk, he took three envelopes from his pocket. With a professional nod, he handed one to Blake before turning to share a private smile with Jack as he held out the envelope. He ended with Gibbs. “You need anythin’ at all, you just call, understand?”

He looked at the man he had known since he was a child. Realizing he wasn’t the only one who lost someone, Gibbs offered his own condolences with a clasp on the shoulder. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Bob. I’ll come by next week if that’s good for you.”

“You’d best come by the house for dinner sooner than that. Audrey doesn’t get out much these days, but I know she’d want to see ya, Leroy.”

“I’ll call ahead of time.”

Russell smiled at the promise. “Alright. Well I’m gonna see if Pete left any of that chicken fried steak.”

He was barely out of the room before Blake barrelled after him.

“Someone’s not happy,” Jack said, sotto voce. 

“Musta thought he was gettin’ the Winchester.”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice warm with amusement, “that must be it.” She pondered her thoughts for a moment, and Gibbs caught her hesitation.

“Just say it.”

A shrug did little to cover her slight embarrassment. “You’re not upset you didn’t get it?”

“Nah,” he said. “Surprised. But upset? Why would I be upset that he gave his prized possession to the prettiest girl in the state?”

“The state, huh? Wow. You flatter me.”

“I just know Jackson. Or at least I thought I did. The Heisman??”

She joined in his disbelief. “I really have no idea.” Holding up the envelope, she said, "Maybe this will give me a clue."

As she began to open the flap, Gibbs said, "You're gonna open it now?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "Can't imagine there's state secrets in it." She unfolded the single piece of paper and began to read aloud.

_My dearest Jacqueline,_

"He was allowed to say it," she said at Gibbs' smirk. "He was old. Anyway-"

_If you're reading this, I guess I made right with the Lord and he's come to get me. At least, I hope it's the Lord!_

_I want you to know, despite evidence to the contrary, your dad was a good man._

She faltered a little, but quickly picked it up again.

_I know giving the shirt off his back for others often meant taking food off the table for his family, which is why I'm finally repaying a debt long overdue. We both started our ranches when we were young and stupid (we only got older), and it was your dad who gave me a hand up. 100 heads of cattle that he never let me pay back. So I'm doing it now, double. One for the debt and one as an apology to your mother for not doing more over the years. If you talk to the Stinson boys over the border, they'll do you right with the price, but I didn’t need to tell you that, did I? You were always smart as a whip. Smarter than most of the men around here. Which brings us to the Winchester and the trophy. I'm hoping-_

She stopped and shook her head. Gibbs saw a faint pink stain her cheeks, and her unexpected shyness only made him want to draw it out more. 

"He's hopin'-" he prompted.

She brushed her hair back as a time-waster, but finally relented. 

_I'm hoping Leroy's smart enough to come looking for one of them. Don't let his history with women scare you away. You're-_

There was a bit more pink in her cheeks, but it was paired with a good natured laugh. 

_You're the prettiest girl in the state._

Gibbs didn't have to say 'I told you so'; his smirk said it all. 

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?"

"Nope." His smirk grew into a full smile.

She used the letter in her hand to give her some time to arrange her words before she said them. "If you want it, I can give it to you." Her eyes closed briefly. "I swear that sounded completely different in my head." Her scowl at his laughter did nothing to diminish it. "I meant the Winchester."

"Not the Heisman?"

He felt the tables turn somewhat when she said, "No. I'd bet you don’t give a shit about the Heisman."

The fact she was spot on surprised him; the fact she'd utter her speculation out loud, in football country, only made him more interested. Leaning in closer than necessary, he warned, "Careful."

Although he had the height, she had the spark, and with a dancing gaze that went from his eyes to his mouth and back again, she offered a shrug, carefree and defiant. "What? Or some ol' cowpoke will take offense?"

“Shit.” He grinned at her gall. “Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gonna have to sneak out of Dodge in the middle of the night.”

“Please,” she dismissed with a short exhale and a wave. “I’ve got a Winchester now.”

“You wanna take it home tonight?”

She shook her head. “No, I can come back once everything is settled for you.”

Her consideration was appreciated, but it would keep her away longer than he’d like. “Come by tomorrow. I’ll dig out the case somewhere.”

“You sure?” she asked. “I don’t want to bother you when you’ve got so much on your plate.”

“You’re not botherin’ me.” They were close enough he could have drawn his finger up her arm, but he jammed his hands into his jeans instead. “The company’s nice. Besides, you need to pick out your cattle.”

The reminder of what else Jackson had left her made her shake her head. “I don’t believe it. I mean, I do. That’s Jackson all over. But I wasn’t expecting it. You don’t know how much this is going to help.”

Gibbs shook his head. “No. But he did. You’ll sell ‘em?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I have no idea. It’s all caught me by surprise. I’ll have to talk to Mom and see what she thinks. She’ll probably want you over for dinner at some point. To say ‘thanks’.” Gibbs opened his mouth but she anticipated his objection. “I know. But she can’t thank your dad, can she? So just give her the chance to ply you with catfish and apple pie, okay?”

“Okay.”

She blinked at the speed in which he agreed. “Okay. Good. Expect her call.” Seemingly out of steam, she rolled back on her heels. “Well, I guess I should go. You’ve got a house full of people who want to give their condolences. Or take a selfie with you.” His wince gave her the courage to tug at his shirt sleeve and say, “I _am_ sorry.” It seemed like the touch was a subconscious one because when her gaze landed on her hand, she pulled away and the colour he was beginning to enjoy came back to her cheeks. “Anyway. If you need anything, we’re just down the road.” 

“Thanks. Jack.”

The shortened name made her grin. “Any time. Gibbs.” 

He frowned at her continued use of his surname and she smiled broadly before tapping the door frame and stepping out of view. The room suddenly felt very empty.

…..


	3. Chapter 3

…..

While Gibbs and Jack had been bantering, Blake had followed Russell out of the room, a storm of disbelief and anger. He caught up to the lawyer and grabbed his arm violently.

“What in the hell?” Blake seethed.

Calmly, Russell looked at Blake’s hand, pried his fingers loose and shoved it away. “I’d ask you the same, young man.”

Unperturbed, Blake jabbed a finger towards the office. “I stood by the old man’s side for _five_ goddamn years, when his own son didn’t have the time of day for him. I turned this ranch into one of the most respected properties in the state. And all I get are goddamn Cowboy tickets?”

“First of all, don’t ever underestimate the bond that boy had with his daddy. Y’were never gonna get between that. Second, the Gibbs name has been revered in this state long ‘fore you ever came along, an’ will be long after you’re gone. Third, as executor of the will, if ya don’t want the tickets, I can see they’re sold an’ the money donated to charity, if you’re so inclined.” 

“How is that fair?” His anger elevated the question above the plaintive rant of a child. Barely.

Russell had no time for it. “Son, if life was fair, Jackson Gibbs wouldn’t be in a box in the ground. Now, if ya don’t mind.” 

He walked away, not caring whether the young man answered in the affirmative or not, leaving Blake to stew in his anger.

…..

By the time everyone had left, it was inching near one in the morning, but like clockwork, Gibbs’ body roused him awake at 6AM. Throwing back the blankets, his feet hit the floor and his hands came up to his face giving a hard rub to encourage his eyes open. A yawn punctuated his routine, and he finally stood, his bad knee saying good morning. He stepped into his jeans and switched shirts and made sure to pull up the blankets on the bed. His lifelong habit given to him by his mother made him chuckle. With a stretch of his arms, he stepped into the hall and closed the door. 

The house was quiet, a sharp contrast to the previous night that was filled with conversation and people. If routine stayed the same, he knew Valerie only cooked dinner, leaving a family with varying schedules to fend for themselves in the morning. He didn’t mind it at all; he always enjoyed the stillness of the morning, the quiet prelude to what was always a busy day. That applied whether he was a budding quarterback, the owner of a construction company, or a man coming home. 

_Home._

He wasn’t sure what he thought of the word, wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about it. Setting a cold cup of coffee in the microwave, he looked out the window above the sink and took in the landscape that stretched for miles. It was always going to be his, he knew, but now it _was_ his, and not for the first time in his life, he found himself at a crossroads. The microwave beeped, offering him hot steaming coffee which he gratefully took. His footsteps brought him to the porch and a chair and a dog, and he was happy to see all three. Settling into the seat, he closed his eyes and savoured the black tar that burned down his throat, the cool morning air that was already beginning to warm, and the dog at his side who was huffing in his sleep.

Home.

…..

“Jesus, don’t you ever sleep?”

“I’m 2 hours ahead of ya, Mitch.”

“Jesus, don’t I ever sleep?”

Gibbs laughed at his foreman’s feigned exasperation. Mitch Donnelly had been with him for over a decade and was the hardest working man he knew. Which was why he called him at 6 in the morning, California time.

“How’s everything?”

He could almost see Mitch’s shrug over the phone. “Same as when you left. The Naismith project is a day ahead of schedule, but we won’t tell him that. Oh, we got a tip that the city is going to want to redevelop the area past the reservoir. We might want to think of putting in a bid for the gig.”

“Timeline?”

“Today’s the 11th? I wouldn’t give it longer than the end of the month before we know for sure. Jesus, it’s _Sunday_ and you’re calling me at 6AM?” His exclamation was fooling no one and they both laughed.

“Get the details and call me. We’ll hash out some numbers before then.”

Mitch knew the drill. “Got it, Boss. Hey, does that mean you’re sticking around Oklahoma?” He sang the state name in the sing-song voice.

“They don’t really like it when you do that around here, Mitch.”

“Good thing I’m in Cali then, huh?”

Gibbs ignored the playful jab. “Will was read last night but now I gotta pile of legal shit to work through.”

The man knew how much his boss hated paperwork. “Better you than me, my friend. Any idea when you’re coming back?”

It was an innocent question that was starting to have deeper possibilities. Gibbs brushed them aside and said, “We’ll see after this week.”

Oblivious to his boss’s newfound conflict, he replied, “Sounds good. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Okay.”

He had just snapped his phone shut when he heard a ring inside the house. Rolling the rocking chair forward, he stood and drained his 3rd cup of coffee before going in. The phone was where it had always been, sitting on the table beside the leather recliner in the living room. He picked up the receiver and answered with a terse, “Yeah?”

“That how you always answer a phone, Jethro?”

It took him a second to put a name to the voice, but when he did, he grinned. “Mrs. Sloane.”

“Oh, listen to you with your formalities. You’d better call me ‘Julia’ and you’d better be comin’ down here for coffee.”

“Name a time.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said, you’d better be comin’ down here for coffee.”

“Not sure the extension cord will reach that far. Julia.”

“Sass! Get your ass down here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He wasn’t the only one who was well-versed in the art of hanging up without saying ‘good-bye’.

…..

The second time in the saddle was a little harder than the first, now that his thighs and ass were anticipating the ache the first ride had given him, but by the time he had made it halfway to the Sloane ranch, his muscles seemed to relent and relax. The horse made it easy with her experience with the terrain and his own experience was slowly coming back to him.

“You forgot to remind me to get a hat,” he chastised the beast. 

The path between the ranches that used to be well-trodden had started to grow over and it felt like an allegory to the relationships between them. He had known the Sloanes since he was a boy, had considered them like a second family until football had taken over. His talent had been tapped at such an early age that he barely remembered Jacqueline Sloane being around, though he blamed part of that on the 10 year difference. He wondered how things might have been different without that age gap. Without football. The horse reacted underneath him, and he realized he had tensed his knees into its shoulders.

“Don’t mind me,” he whispered into its ear and patting its neck. 

Comforted by his care, the horse carried on, right up to the house. Gibbs brought it around to the side where he had seen a hitching post and dismounted. He looped the reins around it and wiped his hands on his jeans. Blue came barrelling out of the short grass, eager and excited to be in new surroundings.

“Hey! Be good.” 

The dog barked at his order, spun around once, and took a sitting position.

“Well, doesn’t that deserve a treat? C’mere, boy.”

Gibbs looked up at the voice from the porch. The dog didn’t wait that long, bounding up the short steps to claim his reward. 

“Do I get a treat, too?” he asked the woman.

She raised her head from the dog, her hair more silver than ash, her face more lined than smooth, but her demeanour just as strong as he had remembered. “Get your ass on this porch and I’ll give you a treat.”

“Aren’t you a little old for me?” His quip was all tease but his hug was all feeling. “God, it’s good to see ya, Julia.”

Her arms went around his shoulders and she squeezed hard. “Jethro, Jethro, Jethro.” He smiled against her ear; she was the only one to call him by his second name. Pulling back to get a good look at him, she said, “You haven’t changed a bit. A little snow on top, but haven’t we all? Come inside.” She looked down at the dog. “You, too?” Blue wagged his tail at the promise of more treats. “Then let’s go.”

There was always something more comforting about the Sloane ranch, something that made it more a home than a house. Gibbs wondered if there really was something to the idea of a woman’s touch. It was something that had been missing from his own house since his mother died. 

“You thinking of your mother?” Julia asked, a gentle touch on his arm that made him think of a different Sloane woman. “Your eyes get all soft when you think of her. They always have.” Tugging him into the kitchen, she gestured to a stool at the island in the middle of the room and poured him a cup. “Still black tar?”

“Yep.”

“Good,” she praised. “At least you got something from me.” She sat across from him and savoured her own coffee. “I’ll never forget your mother when she found out I gave you your first cup at- what was it? Eight?”

“Six,” he corrected with a grin. “S’okay. You got off the hook when I told her Grandpa Ernest gave me my first whiskey on my 5th birthday.”

Julia hooted with laughter. “That old codger! Oh, it’s so good to see you, Jethro. Shouldn’t have been under these circumstances, though.”

He was surprised to feel the regret. He had always faced his choices, accepted the outcomes and looked forward. The glance back made him second guess a decision or two. “Ya knew I couldn’t stay.”

“I know. Probably more than most. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t come back. You know your daddy waited by that phone for you to call after the Steelers game. You never called.”

His discomfort at the reminder only made him bristle. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Dad. Ya know that dream you had of your boy makin’ it in pros? That’s in the shitter now.’” It had been more than ‘in the shitter’. The double injury to both his ACL and his MCL had all but ended his career, less than 12 months after winning Rookie of the Year. 

“Don’t get short with me, _Leroy_.” She stressed the name, knowing his distaste for it. “He only ever wanted what was best for you.”

“He only ever wanted what was best for _him_. Me makin’ pro was best for _him_. Let him strut around town tellin’ everyone his boy made it.” The words came out so fast they caught both of them off-guard.

The air settled between them for a moment. “You’ve been waiting a long time to get that off your chest,” she said at last. “Feel better?”

He glanced away, ashamed, but he mustered up enough conviction to add, “Figured he didn’t want to face the fact things didn’t go the way he wanted.”

“He didn’t want to face them, or you didn’t?”

He shook his head. “I never wanted to be the big star. That was _his_ dream.”

“No,” she agreed, “you were never one for the spotlight. Not once in all those years. But you wanted to get out, and you used football to do that.”

“Turned out I didn’t need football.” He was proud of the fact he had carved a life away from football, didn’t have to hang on to the sport the way so many other washed up athletes did.

“So if you weren’t concerned about facing the fact things didn’t go your way with football, why didn’t you ever come back, even for a visit?”

He frowned. “Why do you sound like a shrink?”

“The proper term is ‘psychologist’, and it’s what Jack went to school for. I might have picked up a book or two along the way.”

“Jack? A psychologist? What the hell’s she doin’ here?”

Julia accepted the change in topic, but not entirely. “I guess she found out she loved staying more than leaving.”

He could only blow out a short, hard breath. “Whattya want me to say, Julia?”

“I want you to say you’re staying for lunch. I’m frying up some catfish and okra.”

Thankful for the reprieve, he tilted his empty cup forward. “Fill this up and you’ll have a hard time gettin’ rid of me.”

Julia stood and took his mug. “Jack’ll be happy to hear that.”

“Happy to hear what?”

Both Gibbs and Julia turned to the voice.

“Hey, sweetie,” Julia said. “I was just planning lunch.”

Jack narrowed her eyes. “Is that all you’re planning?”

Gibbs’ smirk got him a smack on the arm from Julia. “You’re not helping.”

“Nope,” he agreed. Taking some measure of sympathy on her, he turned to Jack. “Have ya given any thought on gettin’ that cattle?”

She sat in her mother’s empty seat. “Can it wait until next week?” she asked. “I’ve got a couple hands making a few new pens and we’ll have to work out the numbers on the feed call.”

“Your bunk reader should be able to figure that out quick,” he said, knowing that determining the amount of food increase needed for the cattle would be tricky, but that an even 200 cattle would make the calculations easier.

“I won’t be able to do that until I get a better idea of the total weight.”

His eyebrows went up. “You’re the bunk reader?”

Julia snorted from the stove. “And the mill man, and the pen rider, and the tagger.”

Jack seemed more than a little embarrassed by the attention. “We don’t have a lot of money to go around,” she explained away her workload.

“How long’s that been goin’ on?” The Sloane women shared a look that didn’t go unnoticed by Gibbs. “You look into refinancing?”

Jack couldn’t hide her eye roll. “Refinancing, 2nd mortgage, 3rd mortgage, line of credit. We’ve done it all.”

“And are still paying for all of it,” Julia added, her attention on the frying pan.

Seeing Gibbs’ confusion, Jack filled him in. “Dad wasn’t great with money.”

“He was great at spending it!”

She looked at her mother, then back to Gibbs. “He got roped into a lot of ‘Next Big Things’.”

Julia wasn’t finished. “We still have ostriches in the back!”

Jack couldn’t help but smile now that the damage was already done. “Ostrich meat was supposed to be the get-rich-quick fad about 7 years ago.”

“Six ostriches running around the back!”

“Mom!”

“I’m just saying.”

“Anyway,” Jack continued, “that was Dad. And here we are. We’re just starting to get our feet back under us again.”

“Because this one here works 16 hours a day to make sure we’re finding our way back into the black.”

Again, Jack waved away the praise. “As you can see, I’m working very hard.” She held out her arms.

Her mother was having none of it. “You need to eat. Nothing wrong with taking a well-deserved break.”

“You need me to do anything?” Gibbs asked. A plate was put in front of him and he took the time to appreciate the aroma. 

“You fixed the fence,” Jack said, appreciating her own plate. “That’s good enough for me.”

The information got Julia’s attention. “The fence by the old oak?” She put a cup of coffee in front of her daughter along with a sugar bowl. Jack hummed in the affirmative. “That fence has been broken for over a year. I swear Blake Wilson left it that way to cull our herd.”

Gibbs enjoyed a piece of okra before saying, “You said somethin’ about shooting the calf. What was that all about?” He watched in a kind of horrified amusement as Jack scooped 4 heaping spoons of sugar into her coffee. 

“Means exactly what you think it does. If one of ours strayed over the property line, he’d shoot it. Lost over a dozen last year because he wouldn’t fix the damn fence and threatened me if I did.”

The amusement stripped away. “He threatened you?”

She gave a casual shrug. “I’m sure he didn’t mean he’d shoot me. I figured it was just a warning to stay off that side of the land. Couldn’t afford the materials anyway.” She popped a bite of catfish into her mouth and savoured the taste. “This is great, Mom.”

“I’m going to threaten _him_ one day,” Julia promised.

Gibbs looked at Jack. “Is it safe to bring the Winchester down?”

“I’d say don’t give me the ammo, but she’d probably just whack him over the head with the butt end.”

Julia took a seat beside Jack. “You two think you’re so funny.”

Gibbs looked at the two women sitting side by side. Age gave them enough differences, but it was clear Jack shared her mother’s eyes, her smile and her strength. 

“So,” Jack said, oblivious to Gibbs’ assessment, “now that you’ve been brought up to speed on the Sloane family drama, what are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

“Figured I’d stick around until I get some apple pie,” he said. “Then head into town to get a hat.”

The last bit of information got Julia’s attention. “Oh? Does that mean you’re staying long enough to play the part?”

“Mom!”

Gibbs grinned at the interplay, though he felt they both deserved a serious answer. “I don’t know, tell ya the truth. But I’m not in any rush to leave, if that answers your question.”

Julia let the words ruminate, then said, “I guess that’s something. Ice cream with your pie?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“‘Ma’am’,” Jack mouthed and got a slap with the dish towel in return.

“For that, you’re not getting ice cream,” her mother said.

“I shouldn’t have the apple pie,” Jack replied, pushing the stool out from the kitchen island. “I’ve got work to do.”

Gibbs stood. “You sure there’s nothin’ I can do?”

Jack shook her head. “Please. Sit. Enjoy the pie or you’ll never hear the end of it from this one.” She thumbed in Julia’s direction. “Can I come by after dinner and pick up that Winchester?”

The fact she was using such a small reason as an excuse to come by the ranch pleased Gibbs in a way he didn’t entirely expect. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Realizing they weren’t the only two in the room, he quickly added, “I’ll dig out the case.”

“Sounds good.” She stood with her fingers in her back pockets, like she wanted a reason to stay but couldn’t find one. “I should go. Can’t wait to see your new hat.”

He watched her leave and stared at the doorway so long that Julia nudged his shoulder with hers.

“Your ice cream’s melting, Jethro.”

He quickly tucked into the dessert, hoping to hell his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

…...


	4. Chapter 4

…...

Unless you were going into the City, there was only one place in the area to get a hat. Like most things, Harrison's Western Wear had been around since Gibbs could remember, handed down to the next generation that decided to stay. The handle was new but the door was old and it creaked on its hinges when he pushed it open. 

"How y'all doin'?" A bright eyed girl who looked to be in her 20s smiled from behind the counter.

He lifted his chin at her greeting. "Hey."

"What brings you in today?"

"Just lookin' for a hat," he said, tilting his head towards the selection. 

"Well if you need any help or a second opinion, just let me know, alright? My name's Mackenzie." She pointed to her name tag, where 'MaKenzee' was scrawled in colourful marker.

He just nodded. There was a mirror in the corner that was just about his height, and he took a moment to look at himself. Jeans and boots and a long-sleeved shirt. He didn't look any different than he did in California. Hell, even the ball cap was the same. And yet, in as little as 4 days, he felt... _different_ somehow. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad; what he did know was that he wasn't getting a damn thing done standing there staring at himself. He was 6 hats in when the door creaked, announcing another customer.

“How y’all doin’?”

Gibbs briefly glanced at the reflection of the two men in the mirror before returning to his hats.

“Your daddy in?” one of them asked.

“No, sir. Gone to the City to pick up a few things for the store.”

“Good. I hope he’s pickin’ me up that belt buckle he promised to get in last week.”

“I’ll mention it to him when he gets back.”

“You do that.” 

It would have been the end of it had one of the men not turned to look at Gibbs. In a town where everyone knew everybody, it was easy to spot the stranger. Except Gibbs wasn’t quite a stranger.

“Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”

Gibbs turned at the address. “Yeah.” It was half answer, half question.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Considering the man had put on an extra 100 pounds since high school, no one would’ve blamed Gibbs had his answer been ‘no’. But there was something in the way he held his head and how his right shoulder dipped down that gave a name to the question.

Gibbs nodded. “Carl Baylor. You were the second string QB in high school.”

“Back-up,” he quickly corrected. “Never got a chance to play, though. Seems that position was always taken.”

The barb pricked Gibbs’ patience. “Nah,” he shook his head, “you played once. Didn’t you throw 2 pick-6s in the game against Mooreland? Think we were up by 32 when you came on.” He continued to feign his poor memory. “I think I had my pads off an’ was worried Coach was gonna have to put me back in. Am I rememberin’ that right?”

Carl’s friend took a step forward, but Carl held him back with a hand against his chest. “How’s the knee, Leroy?” When Gibbs didn’t take the bait, he came around a different way, turning his attention to his friend. “No surprise he blew it out- hotshot pocket quarterback who thought he was too good to adapt his game.”

He would chastise himself later for giving in to the temptation. “Still good enough to make the pros. How ‘bout you, Carl?” Gibbs made a show of looking down at the man’s gut. 

A vein made itself known in Carl’s left temple. “Some of us stuck around for family. But you wouldn’t know what that’s like, would ya? Yet look who’s back, playin’ cowboy?” He sneered at the hat in Gibbs’ hand. 

“Afraid I’m gonna take that position away from you, too, Carl?”

Now it was Carl's friend who held out a hand to stop an advancement. Gibbs would've found it funny had it not been so public.

"Just don't go thinkin' everyone's happy to have ya back. _Leroy_."

Gibbs said nothing as the men all but stormed out. The store was deathly quiet until MaKenzee spoke. 

“I liked the black hat best,” she offered, a nervousness in her voice. “I think it brings out your eyes?”

He felt sorry for the girl who had become an innocent bystander in the uncomfortable drama. Holding up the hat she recommended, he said, “I’ll take it.”

…..

“Come up an’ see my new hat.”

She hadn’t recognized the number, but she was beginning to recognize the voice. “Hello to you, too.”

“Hello. Come up an’ see my new hat.”

Her laughter at his dry repetition lit up the line. “How can I resist an invitation like that?”

“You can’t,” he agreed. “Vee said Blake’s gone to the City so there’s an empty place at the table.”

“Mmmm.” She pretended to ponder her options. “I was so hoping he’d be there.”

Though he could hear the playful sarcasm, he verbally shrugged, “Come over every night if ya want.”

She paused again, this time genuinely caught out by his offer. Hedging her bets, she said, “Pretty sure you’d get tired of me.”

As quick as a whip, he replied, “Only one way to find out.”

“Wow. Okay. I get how you convinced so many women to marry you.”

“It was even easier convincing them to divorce me.”

“And your sales pitch was doing so well!”

“Dinner’s at 6 sharp. Don’t be late.”

She stared at her phone, the connection ended.

…..

“Take that hat off in the house!”

“I’m just showin’ Jack!”

Valerie stood in the living room with her hands on her hips, unimpressed. “You’re lucky my mother’s not around to see that or she’d box your ears in.”

Images of Barbara’s disciplinary tactics on a certain wayward boy ran through Gibbs’ memory. The woman had been like a second mother to him, and Valerie had been family since he could remember. Kissing the woman on the cheek, he said, “Or worse.”

“Or worse,” she agreed. “Hey, Jack. How’s your mom?”

"Oh, you know, Valerie- stubborn and infuriating and not averse to boxing _me_ in the ears."

Vee grinned and nodded. "Dinner's almost ready. That hat better not make it to the table."

With Valerie gone, Gibbs turned to Jack. "Stubborn and infuriating, huh? You once said somethin' about apples and trees?"

"And here I was about to tell you how handsome you looked in your hat. Brings out your eyes."

There was a remarkable difference between hearing it from a girl and a woman, and the heat that tipped his ears told him so. Dipping his head in the hope she didn't see was all for naught.

"Are you blushing??"

"Dinner's ready," was his gruff reply that did nothing to curb her smile.

…..

"Ya know, ya coulda had your own piece instead of eating all of mine."

"Calories don't count when they come off someone else's plate," she said pressing the fork tines into the pie crumbs that were left. "This is so good."

With her eyes closed in pleasure, he was given the chance to look at her uninhibited. Her beatific smile was sweeter than the pie, and he thought the moan a simple dessert elicited from her ought to be illegal. When she opened her eyes and caught him staring, he didn't look away. She wiped a crumb in the corner of her mouth with her finger and stared right back. Boldly, she referenced his earlier invitation.

"I just _might_ have to come up every night. For the pie." His smirk lifted and fell so fast she burst out laughing. "Aww, look who's disappointed."

He feigned irritation at her teasing. Pushing away from the table, he said, "You comin' to get that gun case or not?"

She downed her coffee, much to his disapproving grimace, then stood. "Where we goin', Cowboy?"

'Where' was down a long hall to a ceiling access at the end. Along the way, she took in the gallery of photos that adorned the walls. She stopped in front of one in particular.

"Is that you and your mom?" 

Gibbs stopped and his eyes followed hers. "Yeah."

Jack nodded at the confirmation. "You have your father's eyes but your mother's grin. You still do." 

"You tryin' to tell me I have the grin of a 2 year old?"

"No," she said, speaking with an exaggerated slowness to her reply, "I'm saying you still have your mother's grin."

Seemingly satisfied with the explanation, he thumbed above his head. "Attic." His height allowed him to reach the small ring that pulled the ladder down. Once he checked it for sturdiness, he said, "After you."

Her laugh was short. "Me, go up to the dark attic first? No thank you. I've seen enough horror movies."

"So it's okay for me to go up first?"

Her shrug held no apology. "It's your house.”

Scowling but conceding, he began the ascent with Jack waiting three steps before following him.

“Quit lookin’ at my ass.”

She didn’t even bother to deny it, and it only made him laugh. The light was at the top of the stairs and a pull on the cord illuminated the small attic. Her hand was warm and dry in his as he helped her to her feet where she looked around the room. 

“How many times have you hit your head?” she asked him, checking out the low beams.

“Every time I came up here after I turned 13,” he replied, remembering his growth spurt.

“You came up here a lot?”

The question was genuine in its curiosity, like she had had her own quiet space to retreat when the demands became too much and her brain needed to shut down for a while.

“I might’ve had a small cot and some magazines.” Her eyebrow rose with a teasing quirk. “Not those kind,” he retorted, though he couldn’t stop the smirk from showing.

She looked around again. Boxes were stacked neatly on both ends of the attic with labels that read ‘Christmas’, ‘Anne’ and ‘Photo Albums’. 

“Lots of memories.”

“Yep.” 

With a bent head, he half-crouched his way to a long old trunk. He moved some boxes that were on top and opened the lid. Curiosity brought her to his side. Pulling a blanket back revealed their target- a black, custom-made rifle case tucked along the trunk’s inside edge amid papers and books set neatly around it. Carefully, Gibbs pulled it out of the trunk.

Jack ran her hand along the ornate handle. “It’s gorgeous.”

As he gave it to her, something in the trunk caught his attention. Carefully pulling the item from under several sheets of paper, he recognized it and chuckled.

She looked around his arm. “What is- Oh, my God, give me that!”

He held the artwork above his head as she tried to take it out of his hand. 

“Fine!” she relented.

He looked at the image, a striking horse in stark black pencil. “I forgot you did this. ‘Silver’. She was Dad’s favourite.”

Jack shook her head, dismayed. “The horse’s name was ‘Morgan’, you idiot. After the guy who designed the silver dollar back in 19-oh-something.”

“Close enough.” He pretended to shrug it off though he was secretly pleased at her memory. “I forgot you were big on artsy things. Surprised you didn’t go to school for it.”

“I did.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

“USC. The minor to go with my Psychology major.”

“It’s a good school,” he said approvingly. “They scouted me.”

“Your dad would’ve had a coronary.”

Gibbs grinned. “Yeah, it was OU or nothin’, though I pretended to be interested in the Longhorns for a bit, just to get him worked up.” He looked at the drawing again. “So why didn’t you stay in California?”

She leaned on the gun case and rested her chin on her forearm. “Why didn’t you come back?” Before he had a chance to build his wall, she said, “The ranch was in a lot of trouble. Dad was up to his eyeballs in debt and Mom had saved up all she could to get me into college. Guess I felt like I owed her.”

“Regrets?”

“No,” she replied, all honesty, no hesitation. “You?”

He chuckled, but there was little joy to it. Sitting on the trunk lid, he waited for her to join him before sighing. “I dunno.”

“Don’t know why you didn’t come back, or don’t know if you have regrets?”

“Probably both.”

She rewarded his honesty by nudging him gently with her shoulder. “How about I tell you what I think, and you tell me if I’m right or not?” 

“If I say ‘no’, are ya gonna do it anyway?”

“Yep.”

He could only snort out a short laugh. “Alright. Hit me with it, Dr. Sloane.”

“I don’t think you ever loved football.” 

“Really?”

His dismissive tone rolled off her back. “You did everything you thought was expected of you- excelled in high school ball, got scouted by top universities, went to OU because, you said it yourself, it was the Sooners or nothing, won the Heisman, got drafted by a top team.”

“Didn’t go to the Cowboys, though.”

“No,” she agreed, “but you didn’t have a choice. And I think you secretly enjoyed getting drafted by a California team.” He couldn’t quite hide the small twitch in the corner of his mouth. “I knew it!” She nudged him again. “Rookie of the Year. Then you got injured. But I wonder if it wasn’t the best thing to happen to you.” She ignored his incredulous cough. “I mean, you got the money, got the fame, and got off the hook. ‘I’d love to keep playing’,” she mimicked his drawl, “‘but what can I do?’”

There was a small silence between them before he said, “I don’t sound like that.”

“I watched you enough on your college game days, Cowboy. You sound _exactly_ like that.”

“You watched my game days?”

She waved a hand. “Not important. What’s important is that you didn’t even stay with that too long, and believe me, from what I’ve seen of those Saturday talking heads, that’s the easiest job in football.”

He snorted. “You’re not wrong there.”

“I think you didn’t come back because you didn’t want to admit you made a life for yourself outside of football. People here would kill to have had your opportunities, and to see you ‘throw it away’ like that? So it was easier to stay in California than it was to tell people their dreams weren’t your dreams.”

“You callin’ me a coward, Sloane?”

“Oh, we’re all cowards in our own way, Gibbs. But there’s no shame in wanting to live your life the way you want.” Gingerly tugging at his cuff, she asked, “Are you doing that?”

“Yeah. I think so. I mean, I dunno. Yeah.”

His stumbles had her playfully giving his wrist another tug. “Well, _I’m_ convinced!”

His side glare did nothing to dampen her amusement. Looking down at the drawing that was still in his hand, he contemplated what it must have meant for her to give up a dream to come back home. And for him to chase a dream that wasn’t his just to get away from it. 

“This thing with Dad-” His voice trailed off and he could only shake his head.

Rather than follow up with the obvious, she said, “You know that expression, ‘You can never go home again’?” He nodded. “It’s bullshit. Especially around here. Some people might find that a bad thing, but sometimes familiarity is the most comforting thing in the world. Like pecan pie.”

He nodded again, a soft knowing ‘Ah’ escaping his lips. “All this was your way of getting more pie.”

She fell into his dry humour, obviously deciding she had said enough. “Yes. That’s exactly it. You’re so clever.” She stood and helped him to his feet. When he went to hand her the drawing, she shook her head. “You keep it. Mom still has the stuff I did when I was 6 on the fridge.”

Carefully placing it back in the trunk, he said, “If you change your mind, you can come get it whenever you want.” It was the second time he had made a reference to her being a more familiar fixture at the ranch, and he met her pleased smile with a shrug. “Ready?”

Her brown eyes held his blues for the longest time, each gently tugging at the cord that now seemed to hold them together. Pleased at his unflappable gaze, she smiled. “Ready.” He was at the top of the ladder and had pulled the light cord by the time she realized what he’d done. “Don’t you leave me up here in the creepy attic!” she exclaimed, quickly making her way to the hatch, carrying the gun case behind her, ignoring the laughter below her.

…..


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you unaware of my schedule, I'll be posting 2 chapters a day, one in the morning and one in the afternoon/early evening, so make sure you don't miss an update! :)

…..

The stable was quiet and cool in the early morning hour, and its serenity was something Gibbs appreciated. The horses huffed lowly as he walked by, unfettered by his appearance. Even the dog was quiet, his eyes dutifully cataloguing all the inhabitants. The moment was savoured yet brief, the silence broken by a raucous laugh from the far entrance. Gibbs recognized the voice before he saw the face.

Blake Wilson turned the corner and both he and his partner stopped dead in their tracks.

“Leroy,” Blake said, the surprise evident in his voice. “What are ya doin’ here?”

Doing the introductions himself, he stuck out a hand to the man at Blake’s side. “Leroy Gibbs.”

“Good to meet you,” the man said, shaking Gibbs’ hand. “Dave Hammond. Blake’s right hand man. For however long that lasts.”

Blake looked at Gibbs with an expectancy that rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Well, the 31 days aren’t up yet, so we got time,” Gibbs said, knowing Hammond wasn’t the only one worried about his job.

Tamping down his bristle, Blake asked again, “So what _are_ ya doin’ here?”

“Saddlin’ up a horse,” he replied, his voice dry at having to state the obvious. “Thought I’d do a ride through the pastures, let the cattle get used to me.”

“You’re staying?”

Blake tried to swallow his note of surprise and Gibbs pretended not to notice. 

“Like I said, the month’s not over.” Realizing he had accounted for his presence but the pair had not, he asked, “What are you two doin’?”

“Same as you,” Hammond said. “Think I spotted 2 calves with pink eye yesterday, so we’re ropin’ up to give ‘em some medicine. You’re free to come along, if ya like.” The perturbed look he got from Blake was answered with a shrug that translated into ‘What?’

It was something else Gibbs pretended he didn’t notice. “Sounds good.”

Irked but resigned, Blake said, “Meet us up by the pond in 15.” He turned to fetch his horse without another word. Hammond offered up another shrug and followed. 

Gibbs hoisted the saddle on his horse, smirking at the docile animal. “Was it somethin’ I said?”

…..

On the days the attic had felt too stifling and his dad’s dreams too much, a young Leroy could be found somewhere in the 1000 acres, ambling along with the herd, grazing on his own piece of straw between his teeth. He had felt a connection to the land, a bond with the animals, and a duty to do right by both. He hadn’t forgotten the look on Jackson’s face when he had all but told him as much when he had opened his gift on his 8th birthday and found a football instead of the hat he had wanted. His dad couldn’t understand why his son thought more of ranching than football, and his son couldn’t understand the opposite. His mother had sat on the edge of his bed that night and tried to explain how his dad wanted more for him than what he had gotten, but Gibbs couldn’t ever imagine wanting more than the ranch.

And now he had it.

What he was going to do with it was a question neither the horse nor the dog could answer.

…..

“You haven’t said anything about my hat,” Gibbs said to the horse as they ambled to the pond. “I’ve been told it brings out my eyes. No comment, huh?” He patted her shoulder while he waited for the two men in the distance to arrive. The air was cool though a warm afternoon was hinted in the wind. The dog stayed close but was mindful of the horse and didn’t bother getting too excited when Blake and Hammond finally approached. 

“Got the medicine,” Blake announced, slipping a chew pouch into his upper lip. “Let’s find these calves. They like to graze between the two hills.”

The three horses trotted in the general direction where the herd began to sparsely cover the land until they reached the flat grass that was more of a dip than a valley. The rain had pooled during the season, making the grass greener, drawing more of the herd to graze. It didn’t take long for Gibbs to realize that, while his experience with horses came back to him fairly quickly, he never did know much about cattle. Through sparse but pointed conversation, it became apparent to Blake, too, who started using terms even Hammond raised an eyebrow to.

“Listen to you, Mr. Educated,” Hammond smirked.

Blake brushed off the jibe. “Nothin’ educated about it; that’s what livin’ on a ranch your whole life gets ya.” 

Hammond saw the look Blake shot Gibbs, but only said, “There’s one of ‘em right there.” He pointed to a small black calf with a white swatch on its ear. 

“Give me a hand?” Blake asked Gibbs.

He wasn’t going to get lured into whatever game the man was playing. “Forgot my rope.”

The ranch hand tried to hide his disappointment behind a cheerful, “Next time.”

Gibbs let the poorly disguised ruse pass with nothing more than a nod. “Next time.”

He watched the two men rope the calf so they could administer the medicine to its eye, and watching the ease in which they completed the task only confirmed what Blake had said- that ease came from experience, something Gibbs was sorely lacking. His cell phone saved him from exposing any further limitations.

“Yeah,” he said. He listened to the other end, then replied, “I’ll see you there.” Snapping the phone shut, he adjusted the reins and began turning the horse.

“Where are ya goin’?”

There was a demand behind the question that Gibbs didn’t like, and he threw back an answer. “Bob Russell wants to see me.”

It wasn’t an absolute lie; the older man had invited Gibbs over for dinner. But knowing how the name and what a meeting might mean would be a burr under Blake’s saddle, Gibbs didn’t clarify and instead, nudged his horse with a light heel and set off. Over his shoulder, he commanded, “Let’s go, Blue.”

Hammond waited until Gibbs was out of earshot before turning to Blake with a barely contained smirk. “Isn’t that your dog?”

…..

Rather than go into the house, Gibbs directed the horse around the back to the large pen. A boy in his early teens was walking around the inside space, checking the integrity of the posts with a hard shake before moving on to the next. He must’ve seen Gibbs approaching in his peripheral because he lifted his head.

“Can I help you, mister?”

“Lookin’ for Jack,” Gibbs replied with a glance around the stable.

“She’s out in the pasture,” the young man replied. “Should be back in a few, though. Was there anythin’ I could do for ya?”

Gibbs shifted in his saddle, unsure of his next move. He had wanted to speak to Jack, but part of him wondered why he was making such a big deal out of his problem. Squinting from under his hat, he looked at the teen and made a decision. “You know how to rope, kid?”

…..

Her head was so occupied by numbers and acre estimates and bills that were coming due that she didn’t immediately see the two people in the pen until she was almost on top of it. 

“What in the world?” she whispered to herself.

The teen’s sense of his surroundings was on point and he looked up just as she finished the question.

“Hey, Ms. Sloane.”

“Hey, Logan.” Her eyes went to Gibbs, then the roping dummy, then the teen again. 

He saw the question in her raised eyebrows and he grinned. “Just teachin’ Mr. Gibbs howta rope.”

“I see. Continue.”

Both man and boy felt the self-consciousness that came with her watching, but they gave it a go. Logan coiled his rope and waited for Gibbs to do the same, and Jack could hear the advice being shared.

“Pull the spoke about the width of your shoulders,” the teen said. “Now, I like to circle around my head, like this.” He stepped back to demonstrate. “Or you could circle from the side or over your left shoulder. Ya might hafta play around with it until ya get comfortable. But no matter what ya do, keep that coiled rope in your left hand right in front of ya. Now, watch my hand.” He circled the rope over his head a few times. “See how it rotates at the wrist when it comes around? That’s gonna keep the loop from tanglin’.” Just like that, he let go of the loop and hooked the dummy that was 20 feet away. “Now you try.”

Gibbs narrowed his eyes at the casualness in Logan’s request, but finding no offense in it, he let out the rope and coiled it just like the kid had shown him. Stretching out a second length along the loop -the ‘spoke’ as Logan had called it- he gripped the coils in his left and began swinging the loop above his head, using his elbow as the hinge.

“Ya got it!” Logan praised. “Now, aim for the dummy and let ‘er go!”

That wasn’t as easy as the rest. Gibbs overshot it by a good 3 feet.

“Don’t throw it or push it,” the teen advised. “Ya got the momentum; just release it.”

A second attempt was no better than the first. Jack’s laughter rang around the pen. Gibbs frowned and called out, “I got a hundred dollars that says you can’t do better.”

Logan ducked his head to hide his wide eyes. Without a word, Jack hitched the horse to the pen and swung her legs over the post to join them. 

It was only when she coiled the rope in her hand that she said, “You’d better have that cash on you, Cowboy.” 

Rather than reply, Gibbs stepped to the side and gestured to the roping dummy with his free hand, and a glance from Jack had Logan move back. The rope curled effortlessly around her, looking like an extension of her arm as it looped and looped and looped overhead. Gibbs’ attention went to the dummy, and he knew that was his mistake when he felt the rope pull tight around his body, pinning his arms to his sides. Logan whooped with laughter. He tried to dig his boots in, but she tugged him across the 40 feet to meet her in the middle of the pen. 

“I’d hog-tie you, but I think you might enjoy that too much,” she teased lowly, just enough for only Gibbs to hear. Though he didn’t hear the line, Logan doubled over, much to Gibbs’ dismay. Jack decided to let him off the hook and suggested to the teen, “Why don’t you run into the house and get some Dr. Peppers?”

Logan touched his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

With the kid gone, Gibbs returned Jack’s sly innuendo. “Teach me how to do that.”

The heat behind his request brought a smirk to her lips. “Should we establish a safeword first?"

There were a lot of words going through his head, not all of them ‘safe’, but knowing Logan was set to return at any moment, Gibbs decided to keep it clean. 

"He's a little young to be your ranch hand, isn't he?"

Jack loosened the lasso and let him step out. "He stables his horse here in exchange for some chores." Seeing his silent encouragement to continue, she said, "He trains for the state rodeo championships. Won the under-16s last year. Beat kids 3 years older than him.”

He could hear the pride in her voice and smiled. "That explains a lot."

The rope coiled perfectly in her hand. "Don't worry, Cowboy. With some practice, you could get at least half that good."

"Very funny."

"My question is, why are you practicing here? Don't get me wrong, I've grown to inexplicably like having you around-" She pretended she didn't hear his indignant huff. "But I'm pretty sure you have one of these."

He looked at the roping dummy and nodded. "Yep."

It only took her a second. "Ah. But you don't want to look like _a_ dummy." He didn't have to respond. "Blake tried to catch you out, and you _definitely_ didn't like that."

"Somethin' like that."

"Mmm. Everything like that." She waited for his shrug. "You know you can come by whenever you want." Her pause was perfectly placed among the air that had suddenly charged between them. "Logan can teach you how to ride a bull." 

Gibbs tried to fight his eyebrows from rising in horror, but based on her laughter, he didn't have much luck.

….

His knuckles rapped on the door and his hat was under his arm by the time Robert answered it. 

“How the heck are ya, Leroy?” he asked, a smile spreading across his face. “Come on in.” He waved Gibbs through the door. “Is that a new hat?”

Gibbs didn’t bother answering, knowing the question was just good-natured ribbing by the lawyer. “Is this new?” he asked, looking around the entranceway.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Don’t even get me started on all the ‘make-overs’ Audrey’s done to the place. I swear, she’s addicted to the Home and Garden channel.”

“What am I addicted to?”

Robert didn’t miss a beat as his wife joined them. “To that sweet tea at McAllister’s.”

“Oh, I _do_ love that,” she admitted. “And I do so love seeing _you_ , Leroy.” She wrapped her arms around him in a hug so big it was hard to believe she was half his size. “Oh my gosh, how long has it been?”

“Almost 40 years,” he replied, “though I’m not sure how that can be when you don’t look a day over 50.”

The octogenarian slapped his arm. “Listen to you. If I were 30 years younger-”

“If you were 30 years younger, you’d be stuck between wife #2 and wife #3,” Robert joked.

“Ah, Audrey, there’d be no wife #3 after you,” Gibbs said, kissing her cheek.

She winked. “Flattery will get you everywhere. Now, come inside. What can I get you to drink? Dr. Pepper? Sweet tea? Something a little harder?”

He followed her into the kitchen, his arm linked with hers. “Let’s start with the sweet tea,” he said, “then we’ll see how the night goes.” She sat him down at the dinner table and he marvelled at the room. “This is all new.”

“It’s called ‘open concept’,” she said, pouring them all beverages.

Gibbs chuckled. “Yeah, I’m familiar with the term.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re in construction, aren’t you?” She sat to his left and Robert sat beside her.

“That’s right.”

Robert waved his hand around their surroundings. “You build this stuff?”

“I build off plans, yeah. This ‘open concept’ is big in California.” He took a sip and murmured his appreciation for the tea.

Audrey slapped her husband’s arm with more force than she had done to Gibbs’. “See? It’s big in California.”

“And we’re in Oklahoma.”

“Shush.”

Gibbs watched the two banter back and forth. It was something he remembered as a kid, coming over for the occasional Sunday dinner. The couple didn’t have children of their own, and he always felt he had been the proxy son, without the pressures of being tied by blood. “Some things never change.”

“So how has the return been?” Audrey asked. “All things considered.”

Gibbs shrugged. “I’ve been here less than a week but part of it feels like a hell of a lot longer than that.”

Robert looked over his glass. “Good or bad?”

It was pretty much the same question he had asked himself in the western shop. He still didn’t have an answer. “I dunno, Bob. Bit of both, I guess.”

“Is that bit of good a certain lady ranch owner?”

Gibbs pretended to ignore the question but Audrey picked up on it.

“There’s only one lady rancher around here worth a damn that you might be interested in,” she said. “Are you telling me you’re sweet on Jacqueline Sloane?”

In an attempt to deflect the question, he said, “Why are you assumin’ I’m the one sweet on her? Maybe she’s sweet on me.”

She patted his hand like a child. “Oh, sweetheart, Jack Sloane doesn’t get sweet on anyone; Lord knows the men around here have tried. That said, you’re not from around here, so _maybe_ you’ve got a chance.”

She said it so smoothly, so straight-faced that it caught him off-guard, but she could only hold the expression for a second before she burst out laughing. “Oh, you should see your face. Like a boy told he wasn’t getting candy for Hallowe’en. So you _are_ sweet on her.”

“There’s a lot to be sweet on,” was all he was ready to admit.

Robert groaned. “Careful, Leroy, or this one’ll be planning wedding #5 for you!”

…..

After dinner, the two men went to sit out on the porch while Audrey shooed them away so she could watch ‘her show’. Gibbs agreed on one whiskey and was nursing it in a rocking chair that had been there since he could remember. The night was cool but the wind was calm and with the highway a half a mile away, the air was quiet. He closed his eyes and savoured the drink.

“Have you decided what you’re gonna do, Leroy?”

He was expecting the question since neither Robert nor Audrey had asked it at dinner.

“I dunno,” he admitted.

“Mmmm. I have to say, that’s surprising.” Seeing Gibbs’ head tilt in silent encouragement, Robert continued, “If the answer was negative, I think you’d have answered it right away. But not knowing? Sounds like you’re giving it some thought.”

“I am.” He looked down into his glass. “What did Blake say to you that night?”

Taking an appreciative sip, he said, “I guess he wasn’t as happy with what your Daddy left him as some other people were. And might I add, I noticed a particular trophy was gone by the time I left.”

The smirk twitched Gibbs’ mouth. “She took the damn thing with her. Came back the next day for the Winchester.”

Robert let out a hearty laugh. “She’s been a spitfire her whole damn life. You could do worse.” When Gibbs didn’t respond, Robert shrugged and returned to the question at hand. “Blake was pretty indignant about being left out like that. And I suppose I don’t blame him too much; he was your Daddy’s right hand man for 5 years and did just about everything for him in that last year when he couldn’t.”

“When he couldn’t?”

“Leroy, Jackson was doin’ poorly for a good year, year and a half. The last 6 months went down quick.”

Gibbs stared off into the distance. “He never said.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

A guilty rush swept over him. “Twenty years? Twenty five? I dunno.” But he did. He remembered the very last day he saw his father because it was the last day he saw his wife and daughter before they were lowered into the ground. He had stormed past Jackson and his date without a word and never came back.

Rather than pass judgement, Robert said, “He was too proud to ask for help. But Blake was there to offer it. Your Daddy even let him run most of the finances.”

With suspicion in his voice, Gibbs asked, “Any problems?”

“No,” he replied, “in fact, Blake helped turn a profit, never took more than his salary and always found the best deals. Jackson trusted him, and I’ll hand it to that boy, he earned it. Which is probably how he convinced your Daddy to buy up those farms.”

Gibbs tried to hide his wounded pride. “For the natural gas. Blake told me. You went along with it?”

Robert shook his head in surprise. “No. Quite the opposite. I told Jackson the small amount of profit wouldn’t be worth all those burned bridges. He didn’t want to listen.”

“But you still signed off on the paperwork.”

Again, he shook his head. “I did not. He told me he was getting another lawyer. Said he didn’t want to put me in a moral conflict.”

“He said or Blake said?”

There was a pause as Robert tried to replay events in his mind. “Well, now that you mention it, I guess it was Blake who told me that. Made it sound like he was doin’ me a favour.”

Gibbs let the information settle as the evening air gently blew across the porch. "I shoulda been here."

The lawyer wasn't the type to let him off the hook, but he also wasn't the type to make it worse. Finding a place somewhere in the middle, he repeated the question he had asked when they had first stepped onto the porch. "Forget then. What are you gonna do in the now?"

He hadn't come up with a different answer. "I dunno, Bob. What would you do?"

"Ah, you're comparing apples to oranges, Leroy. I was born here, raised here, stayed here. Hell, I'll die here." They shared a grin. "The question is, do you want to?"

"That's awfully morbid."

Robert conceded the point with a shrug. "You may be right. And I may be wrong." He could see Gibbs' curious look in his peripheral vision. "Maybe the real question is, are you really an orange?"

Though the meaning was clear, the metaphor made him laugh. "Or maybe you've just had too much to drink, old timer."

"That could very well be," he admitted with a chuckle, but it didn't stop him from downing the rest.

…..


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until it was pointed out to me, but I used the name 'Cate' in this story. Of course, it didn't even occur to me. 'Kate'. I was going to change it, but I figured it was okay to, in a way, have some part of her in this story.

…..

Friday arrived quicker than Gibbs expected, days passing between his dinner with Robert and the promise of the weekend. Despite his standing invitation, he'd only seen Jack in passing between the two ranches, and her absence was only palatable because she had set a definitive day to come for the cattle. Today was that day and he chastised himself for fidgeting in his saddle while he waited for her. Blake and Hammond were around, though the latter seemed happier about the prospect than the former. When Hammond had volunteered to mark the cattle with paint, he found himself on the receiving end of a glare from Blake, but like most things, he shrugged it off. Gibbs appreciated the man's unflappable nature.

At 9 on the dot, as promised, Jack came up the trail with her horse, chocolate brown except for a white face and legs that looked like they had stepped into a white paint puddle about 2 feet deep. Both Gibbs and Hammond touched their hats, Blake uttered a simple, "Sloane."

She pulled up alongside Gibbs and mimicked his tone. "Wilson." Feigned pleasantries aside, she looked at Hammond and offered a genuine smile before sharing a private one with Gibbs.

"Your horse has blue eyes," was the first thing Gibbs thought to say.

Hammond brought his horse near Jack. "She's a sabino Paint, ain'tcha?" He ran an affectionate hand along the animal's nose. "She's a real beauty."

“I guess I’ve got a soft spot for blue eyes,” Jack replied, her innocence a playful volley.

Blake had no time for it. “We gettin’ this done today or not?” He turned his head to spit out his chew pouch, then tucked another one in his upper lip.

Hammond grimaced. “You know I hate that shit, man.”

Blake’s grin was purposely wide. “Keeps my mouth minty. Now, we goin’?”

The four headed towards the valley where Gibbs had been days earlier, Blue running ahead and circling back to Gibbs and Jack, despite Blake’s whistling to the contrary. Just before the hills narrowed the pasture, Jack got Hammond’s attention.

“How do you differentiate between the heifers and the cows?”

“Left ear tag for the heifers, right ear tag for the cows. Steers get both.”

She nodded. “I have to be honest; you’ve got a really nice selection of stock. I’m not going to waste your time by picking and choosing.”

“So what the hell are we out here for?”

“Don’t know about you, _Wilson_ ,” Jack said the name like she was swatting away a mosquito, “but I’m out here for the ride.”

Gibbs smirked and Hammond hid a grin. “You want me to just mark ‘em and round ‘em up for ya, Jack?”

“If you don’t mind? I trust you, Dave. We can shift them towards the gate by the gnome hut.” Like the big oak, the small pile of rocks that resembled a home for a very small person had been part of the pasture since anyone could remember. “Once we get them across the road, I’ll come back and take a look at the bulls.”

“You sure you don’t just want Dave to pick those for ya, too?” Blake’s tone was dripping with sarcasm.

It was a tone she ignored. “No, those I want to be sure of. I’ve got the Stinson boys coming by at the end of the month to have a look.”

"What's the count on heifers to steers?" Dave asked, reaching for the paint that would fade out after a week.

"A hundred to 97," she replied.

"Just make it a 100 each," Gibbs told him. "I get itchy if the counts aren't even." Both Dave and Jack gave amused snorts.

Hammond's touched his hat and nodded. "You got it. You might wanna come around the backside of the hill. It’ll help steer ‘em towards the gate. By the time you get there, I’ll have a bunch of them marked up and we can start movin’ 'em.

True to his word, it looked like he had over a quarter of the count marked when they came around the bend, and meticulously, through years of experience, Blake, Dave and Jack chose points behind the herd and began separating the painted cattle. Gibbs followed Jack’s discreet direction and soon got the hang of the round up. Dave weaved through the herd, slow enough to not spook them, but with a quick eye and hand. 

“How many you got?” Gibbs asked.

“I’m at a buck 25, boss.”

Gibbs took a look at the cattle still within the circle of their roundup. Doing a quick count, he asked Jack, “Would you take the rest?”

Both she and Blake looked at the heads, and both reacted in much different manners.

“That’s well over 50 extra!” Blake protested. “Do you even have a clue how much money that is?”

Jack could only look on, mouth agape.

“This time of year, at about one fifty per hundred pound? Times the 57 steers I’m about to give away? Yeah, I got some clue how much money that is.” While Gibbs’ experience in running a ranch might have been lacking, he had been running a construction company for over two decades. If there was one thing he knew, it was numbers, and the ease in which he rattled them off to Blake took the wind out of the man’s sails. But Gibbs added another equation for good measure. “How many cattle we got, Blake?” The question was asked in a way that left no doubt Gibbs knew the answer.

“A dozen over 1000 heads.”

“And how many are in-calf?”

“Over 100.” Blake’s voice dropped, knowing where the conversation was going.

“So if I give Ms. Sloane an extra 57, we’ll still be up 43 by the end of season?” Gibbs’ own voice was flat and direct. When he got nothing in return but an exasperated grunt, he nodded. “Glad my math is right.” With a look to Hammond who had been watching on in interest, he said, “Think we can just move with these.”

“You got it.”

Jack, silent up to this point, brought her horse alongside Gibbs. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said.

He felt her nearness but looked straight ahead, even if he couldn’t stop the grin from appearing. “Do I come across as the kind of guy who does things he doesn’t have to do?”

Her laugh was soft. “No. No, you do not.”

“Then what’re we talkin’ about?”

“No idea.”

“Okay.” He snuck a glance in her direction and was rewarded by her smile. “Then let’s get this show goin’.”

…..

It didn’t take Gibbs long to get the hang of it, and with some sharp eyes and diligent horse work, they wrapped the job up in an hour, gently cajoling the cattle from the Gibbs acreage, through the gate and across the road into the Sloane pastures.

When the last head walked through the gate, Blake turned to Jack. “We done here or is there any other free labour we can do for ya?”

“You’ve got the records for the bulls?” Jack asked without blinking an eye.

“Yeah,” he replied spitting. “O’course I do.”

“Great.” Her smile was bright. “You can send them to my e-mail address. You know, the same one you sent the offer to buy our ranch.” Turning her attention to Gibbs, she said, “I’ll go over the records tonight and come by with the trailer tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

Gibbs shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”

“If there’s nothin’ else-” Blake let the question hang, and when there was no reply, he jerked his horse around and his chin at Hammond. “Let’s go.”

Hammond touched his hat. “Jack.”

When the two men were out of earshot, Gibbs shook his head. “Don’t antagonize him any more than you have to.”

She relented with a sigh. “I know. I just can’t help it. Guess I’m not coming over for dinner, am I?”

Lifting his shoulder again, he said, “I’m not gonna stop ya.” But he let her know he understood the situation by saying, “Pete invited me out to The Lazy Mule for a bite later. You’re more than welcome.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

He hadn’t intended on it, no. But once the words were out there, he liked the sound of them. Still, he pretended to wave away the implication. And the want. “Sloane-”

“Gibbs.”

“6PM,” was all he said in the face of her sass and wink before pointing his horse in the direction of his ranch.

“Gibbs.” The name was said with the intent on getting his attention. She waited until he turned in the saddle, then said, “You and your dog. You did good work today.”

Unexpectedly warmed by her praise, he could only touch his hat in thanks, while covertly pulled the brim down to cover the slight flush he knew was spotting his cheeks.

…..

She slid into the truck, all smiles and smells, something citrusy, something he was sure the salesperson at the counter would call 'fresh'. But there was something else about her that was different, something beyond the leather jacket and white button down that flashed a pendant tantalizing his eyes downward. He was struggling to put his finger on it when she looked across the space and offered a smile.

"It's my going out jeans."

He blinked at her ability to read his mind, but shook his head at her deflection. She was nervous, and he was glad he wasn't the only one who was beating down the butterflies. He had no idea what he had to be nervous about- it wasn't as if he hadn't had his fair share of experiences with women. But there was something about _this_ woman that kept him off balance, threw him a curveball, nudged his confidence just slightly askew. Seeing her slightly unsure of herself in the confines of his truck, going off to what he'd never confirmed nor denied was a ‘date’ somehow put him at ease. He figured he’d ought to return the favour.

“Mine, too.”

She glanced down at his jeans and his chuckle brought her eyes back up to his playful blues. Visibly relaxing, she asked, “Was the funeral the first time you’d seen Pete?”

“Nah,” he replied, his eyes turning to the road. “Saw him at Tom’s on the Friday when I picked up the stuff for the fence.”

This news took her by surprise. “Oh. You know he’s sheriff now.”

“Yep. He came in with his uniform.”

Dusk settled in the distance as they drew closer to town. “Thanks, by the way. For fixing the fence.”

Gibbs brushed it off with an easy, “Nothin’ to thank me for. Should’ve been done ages ago, apparently.”

She smiled. “Yes, but still. You did it and I appreciate it. Not sure Happy does, though.”

“‘Happy’?”

“The calf I had to bribe to come home.”

It only took a second for his brain to catch up to the information. “You name your calves after the 7 Dwarves? Thought you weren’t supposed to give livestock names.”

She agreed with a sheepish blush. “I know, I know. Just can’t help myself sometimes.” Her joy filled the space between them. “Though I should’ve called that little shit ‘Dopey’.”

He pulled the truck into a parking lot that was beginning to fill, finding a spot near the entrance. Though he didn’t open her door, he did gently guide her into the restaurant, leaving a touch on her waist that she pressed back into, bringing the citrus smell close, enticing him to lean closer. Her hair tickled under his nose just long enough to tease, long enough to draw images in his mind before she pulled the door open.

The decor was exactly what the name would imply, being slightly less family-oriented than the local IHOP, but not quite the guilty Sunday confession environment of the Hooters in the City. A shoe-horn bar separated the dining area on the left and the pool tables on the right, and Gibbs was certain he saw a mechanical bull in the far corner. He had just taken inventory of the place when he heard a sharp whistle. Though it was hard to miss the big man, Pete stood and waved them over.

“LJ!” Pete enveloped Gibbs in a bear hug. “Good to see ya again.”

“How y’all doin’?” Cate also gave him a hug, though with less gusto but more feeling. Her attention turned to Jack. “How in the world did this one drag you out? Lose a bet?”

The women shared a hug even as Gibbs scowled. “It’s so good to see you two,” Jack said.

“Been a long time, Jack,” Pete replied, giving her a squeeze. “Make sure the gas tank’s full before he drives you home tonight.”

“Are we here to eat or what?”

Jack took some sympathy on him and pulled him into the booth as she sat. “Poor thing. Have a seat.”

He glowered at her faux sweetness but slid into the booth beside her and inwardly thanked Pete for the choice of seats. His thigh pressed against hers and she made no motion to move. The heat spread from her leg to his and to other regions in the same vicinity. Trying to ignore the new tightness of his jeans, he squinted at the menu. 

“Remind me to bring my glasses for you next time,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. 

A shared chuckle between Cate and Pete across the table brought a frown line between his brows which did nothing to assuage their amusement.

“Whattya recommend?” he asked, in an attempt to steer the attention away from him.

In unison, the table replied, “Steak!”

…..

An hour went by, filled with good steak and great company. When the waitress asked if they wanted dessert, he ordered the pecan pie with two forks, basking in Jack’s bashful tip of her head while ignoring Cate and Pete’s knowing look between them. They regaled Jack with high school stories and hijinx, much to her delight. Even Gibbs played along, falling into the memories and nostalgia. 

“-that tomato hit him square in the back of the head!” Pete roared with laughter.

“It wasn’t hard,” Gibbs assured Jack. “His head was this big.” He held out his hands shoulder width which only made Pete laugh more. Jack’s own laugh was muffled into his shoulder, her hand fisting the cloth around his bicep. 

“See?” Cate said. “I was a good girl- I didn’t run with this band of ragamuffins until senior year. I was focused on band.”

“Drum line?” Jack asked.

“Trumpet. And if you say a single one of those dirty words I know is floatin’ around in your head right now, Leroy, I will brand you.”

Gibbs’ eyebrows went up in feigned innocence. “No idea what you mean, Cate.”

“Uh-huh.”

Pete sat back and shook his head. “Man, those were the days.”

Gibbs nodded over his beer. “Yep.”

“But how about now?” Cate asked. “Any idea what you’re gonna do with the ranch?”

He held out his hand in surrender. “Nope.”

Cate’s eyes widened. “Nothing at all?”

“Cate, I’ve been back for a week. I’ve got a life and a business in California. Can’t just drop that.”

“But you’ve got a family ranch here.” 

It made sense that she would say it with a measure of incredulity; like Robert Russell, she had been born and raised there, had raised her own family there. The idea of leaving would never occur to her, so the idea of coming back would be obvious. It wasn’t that easy for him.

“Got to the end of the month to figure it out.” He took a swig from his beer as a way to cover the sudden feeling he was sinking into quicksand. Jack’s pull away from his arm only deepened the sensation.

“Just have to hit the ladies’ room,” she said, gesturing him to slide out of the booth. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Cate watched her leave and Pete coughed. “I’m just gonna get some change for the pool table,” he said, making his escape.

“Coward,” Gibbs muttered under his breath.

Cate leaned forward. “I’m sorry, who’s the coward?”

“Cate,” he warned.

She blew out a dismissive breath. “Please. Don’t even try that with me. Listen to me- whatever you do, do not lie to her.”

“I’m not lyin’ to anyone, least of all her.”

“Then don’t pull her along. She’s a good person, Leroy. One of the kindest people I know. And you’re the first man I’ve seen her with in almost a decade. That means somethin’.”

He wondered why it meant something to him, too.

“She never got married?”

“She was with a fella from Madill for a long time. Army fella. But it was hard for her, the separation.”

The meaning was loud and clear. 

“Cate,” he said, this time the name whispered with softness rather than sternness. 

She saw Jack’s return over his shoulder and took it as her last opportunity to say, “Don’t screw this up, Leroy.”

Feeling her presence at his side, Gibbs stood, but rather than letting her back into the booth, he said, “Pete wants to lose some money at pool. You in?”

Whatever feeling, whatever she dealt with during her excuse to visit the bathroom, she had pushed it aside. “Oh, I’m in.”

…..


	7. Chapter 7

…..

Two hours and several drinks later, Jack was up fifty dollars, mostly because she wasn’t the one having the drinks. Both Pete and Gibbs had decided to take advantage of the bar’s surprisingly good whiskey selection, much to Cate and Jack’s amusement. The dining room had started to empty and the other side of the bar had started to fill. The volume had gone up as the crowd increased, causing Gibbs to lean in every time he wanted to say something to Jack, encouraging her to tug at his shirt whenever she wanted his attention. He didn’t mind either of those choices. Despite his protests -to which she patted her pocket and said, "It's mostly your money anyway" -she went to the bar to buy the next round just as a group around the mechanical bull were getting loud.

"Ain't there 1 damn Okie who can ride?"

The nickname made heads turn, just as it had intended. A tall straw in a hat too big for his head held out his hands in derisive invitation.

"I've got a hundred dollars that says none of y'all can ride." He was met with various degrees of silence until he turned to his friends and hooted, "Horns Up!" The Texas football term got the attention he wanted.

"How much?" Pete asked.

His wife grabbed him by the arm. "Are you crazy?"

In his inebriated state, it took him a second to figure out they weren't on the same page. "Not me," he assured her. "Jack."

Gibbs leaned heavily on his cue stick to counter the sudden laughing fit that threatened to knock him on his ass. He could only imagine the look on her face when she found out Pere had 'volunteered' her for the challenge. 

"Jack?" Cate repeated.

"Right here," she said, returning with the drinks. "What's up?"

The Texan rolled back on his boots in laughter. "That's your rider?"

Jack looked between her 3 companions with a silent question in her eyes. Both Cate and Gibbs mouthed, "Nope."

Pete didn’t hesitate in answering. "Hayseed said there wasn't an Okie who could beat him on the bull. Gibbs said you could do it."

"Hey!" Gibbs objected. 

Pete leaned in and whispered, "She'll forgive _you_."

Though she couldn't hear him over the bar noise, she got the gist of it. "Pete," she warned.

"C'mon, Jack. You used to ride bronc back in the day."

"Yeah, okay, so first, 'back in the day' was over thir-" She stopped herself. "A long time ago. And there's a big difference between a bronco and a bull."

"Had I known all ya had was a girl, I'da raised the bet."

The taunt brought Jack's steely gaze to the visitor and the locals held their breath.

"You're in it now, boy!" Pete whooped, and Gibbs could barely hide his grin.

"I hope my insurance covers this," Jack muttered. The beer she had at dinner had long worn off so she took a swig of Gibbs' whiskey for some liquid courage and flashed him a wink. The wink he gave in return warmed her more than the alcohol. "Better have the money, Hayseed."

…..

As she walked up to the mechanical bull, she heard a smattering of people call out her name, and for a brief moment, it felt like the thirty plus years she had pretended to avoid revealing. The 'home' crowd was on her side and it gave her a boost of confidence that showed in her saunter. 

"So how are we doing this?" she asked, gesturing to the machine.

With an ingratiating grin, the Texan said, "Age before beauty."

"Ladies first, asshole!" Pete shouted.

"Same difference."

Jack pretended to contemplate her options, but she knew going first against someone who was all cattle, no hat would be to her advantage. The longer she could stay on the bull, the more pressure it would put on him. The question was how long she could stay. She knew years of ranch work had made her stronger, but thirty odd years was a long time for the body to forget, to lose its reflexes, to get soft in ways she never had to think about when she was a teen. Still, the experience was there and with it, the confidence. 

"You know how this thing works, Hayseed?"

"Name's Landry."

"Of course it is," she said.

"Simple," he replied, his tone barely hiding his displeasure at her nonchalance. "Thing goes up every 15 seconds. I plan on makin' it go to 10!"

"Better call Guinness," she drawled, kicking off her boots and hoisting herself into the saddle. "World record's 9." 

She wasn't lying when she told Pete a bull was different than a bronco, even if it seemed obvious. She knew the speed would catch a less experienced rider by surprise, and the width between her knees was greater than she ever rode. But sitting in the saddle, even one as generic as the one molded to the machine, seemed to bring it all back. She wished she had a glove as she jammed her hand under the strap and shifted so far forward she was almost sitting on her hand. Her knees pressed as tight as they could, pushing her heels behind her hips. There was something so cool and precise in her motions that the Texan’s friends started to rib him.

“Think you’re in the shit now, Lands!”

He disguised his newfound nervousness by yelling at the machine controller. “Let’s get this show on the road, Pops!”

The older man made eye contact with Jack who nodded her readiness. A countdown from 3 flashed on the small digital display on the wall and the machine stirred to life.

…..

"She finds herself in the hospital at the end of the night an' you're gonna find my foot in your ass."

Pete's laugh at Gibbs' threat wasn't as confident as he would've liked. "That's what all the padding on the floor's for." He swallowed hard before yelling out, "C'mon, Jack!"

…..

She was surprised at how easy it was to fall back into old memories. Beyond forcing herself not to 'spur' the way she would have had it been a horse, everything felt the same, including the exhilarating sense of freedom. In the saddle, it was just her; whatever the outcome, it would be because of her abilities, her choices, her decisions. As a teen, it was the greatest feeling she'd ever had, and it was pretty damn good as an adult, too. The machine's level of difficulty clicked over to 6 and she knew she couldn't hold on much longer, the bucks becoming too sudden to adjust to, the reverses in direction becoming too jerky to counter with her body. Her arm protested and her thighs burned but nothing could stop her will as her ears waited for the crowd to yell out "7!" She let go on the mark and twisted her body to land on her back. The cushioning knocked the wind out of her but nothing could take the smile off her face. She covered her stomach with her hand and laughed.

…..

He couldn't see her because of the cushioned half-walls that surrounded the machine, so when she didn't immediately stand, his stomach dropped. 

"Leroy, she's fine!" Pete shouted after him, to no avail amid the crowd cheers and Gibbs’ own racing heart.

He damn near tripped jumping over the short wall, underestimating its height and his inebriation, but the padding on the other side cushioned his landing as he fell to his knees.

“Sloane!”

He wasn’t sure what image he was expecting to see on the other side of the bull, but finding her on her back, laughing like she won the lottery definitely wasn’t one of them. He half crawled, half crouched over to her, a part of him falling in love with her laugh and another part falling into her.

She opened her eyes and saw his face, lines bracketing a wide smile, looking down at her. 

“Help me up, Cowboy?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the moment or those beautiful blue eyes, but when he reached down for her hand, she reached up and grabbed a fistful of shirt, pulling his mouth onto hers. His paralysis lasted only a second before his offered hand instead braced on the cushioned floor that sunk under his weight. Her lips were soft but demanding, his were warm and equal to the task. Though the wall shielded them just enough from most prying eyes, it was a slight cough from the bull operator that brought them back to the present. Which was a damn good thing, he thought, because he was just about to get arrested, audience be damned.

“Y’all doin’ okay?” the man asked without an ounce of concern once he saw how -and what- they were doing.

Her eyes sparkled under the lights and from within. “Help me up, Cowboy,” she said again. “I’m about to win some money.”

…..

The Hayseed was good, she’d give him that, but the minute he slid into the saddle and grabbed the strap overhand, she knew the force of the machine would win out over the undue strain the position was putting on his forearm. Sure enough, just as the difficulty level clicked over to ‘6’, when the torque on his shoulder couldn’t be countered by his grip, and with a whoop from even his friends, he was unceremoniously thrown from the giant mechanical beast. Jack leaned over the short wall.

“How y’all doin’?” she asked, mimicking the operator. When Landry could only groan from the ground, she feigned shooting him with her finger and warned, “Better have my money, Hayseed.”

…..

To his credit, he did and he handed it over with little complaint. That money, along with what she had won playing pool, allowed her to by a round for Landry and his friends, no hard feelings. Pete and Gibbs were barely feeling anything at all, having picked up their quest to run through the whiskey list. Cate stopped them 3 brands short under threat of leaving Pete in the truck all night. When Jack gave Gibbs the same threat, the men grumbled but relented, and the stagger to their respective vehicles made it clear why the threat was made in the first place. Cate could barely heave her husband into the cab, and Jack wasn't fairing much better, though her problem was less Gibbs' size and more of his wandering hands. The alcohol had brought out a soft side and he couldn’t seem to stop touching her hair like it was something precious.

"You know, any other guy and this would almost be creepy," she said as he buried his nose in her hair while she struggled to get his seat belt on.

"'M not any other guy."

The matter-of-factness that came with the alcohol made her laugh, though she suspected his confidence didn't need much to make itself known.

She clipped herself in and admitted, "No. No, you are not."

The ride to his house was quiet, the night covering the land in silence, the whiskey catching up to Gibbs. She shot him sidelong glances under the pretense of making sure he was okay, an excuse to quash down the guilty voyeurism she felt. She wondered how many people ( _'Women_ ,' she corrected herself) got to see him so unguarded, so peaceful. With his blue eyes shuttered, she felt on even ground, and couldn't avoid reaching over to brush her fingertips along his cheek. The touch startled him awake.

"We there yet?"

“Almost, sweetie.”

“‘Kay,” he said, his eyes drifting shut again.

The truck finally pulled down the long road and she parked it to the side of the house, and when he didn’t move, she laughed. Her light touch had woken him in an instant, but the jostling and jerking of the truck didn’t bother him in the slightest. Shaking his shoulder did nothing. So she went back for the tried and true. Unclipping her seat belt, she shifted close to him and touched his cheek and was immediately pinned by piercing blue eyes.

Her throat suddenly felt dry. “We’re here.”

His hand reached up to brush away her hair. “You’re pretty.”

She was glad the cab was dark enough to cover her blush. “You’re drunk.”

His eyes squinted in contemplation. “Yep,” he concluded in agreement. “But you’re still pretty.”

“Okay,” she replied in a tone meant for a child, “let’s get you out of here and into bed.” His grin was anything but child-like. “Drunk and incorrigible. Great. Don’t move; I’m just going around.”

True to his silent nod, he stayed right where he was while she exited the truck to come to the passenger’s side. Opening the door, she reached across his waist to unbuckle him and she felt his nose brush across her temple, his breath soft and warm. She tried to ignore the spark that seemed to jump from his lips to her ear, and tried to keep the casual in her voice when she said, “Ready to go, Cowboy?” She offered her hand and he took it, the second his foot hit the ground and his knee wobbled. 

“You’re strong,” he said.

“I thought I was pretty.”

He weaved them to the house. “I gotta list.”

“You gotta list, huh?”

He tapped his forehead with an exaggerated seriousness that made her laugh. “Yep.”

“Well why don’t you tell me all about it once we get you inside?” The door opened to an empty house and Jack tried to keep Gibbs upright while she reached for a light. “Which way?”

“The couch.”

It took her a second to figure out the meaning behind his words. “No, you’re not sleeping on the couch. Where’s the bedroom?” She saw his grin. “You’re such a horndog. Where is it?” He tilted his head to the right, then his chin dropped to his chest. “No, no, no,” she implored. “No passing out until we get you into bed.” There was just enough of a snort to assure her he wasn’t entirely out. 

The short walk was made twice as long by the way she had to counter his sway down the hall. At last, they staggered into the room, and she took a moment to note the spartan nature of it before she dropped him onto the bed. His arm around her shoulder nearly brought her down with him. When she gently removed it, he grumbled his displeasure.

“Stay.”

The simple word was filled with complicated possibility, and she had to fight hard against the easiest route. “No,” she replied, arranging the pillows under his head. “You need your sleep.”

“Sleep better with you.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his half-sleep pout. Standing, she pulled off his boots and grabbed a nearby throw to tuck around him. “You don’t know that.”

“Can find out.” His hand came up into her hair again, but when he felt her resist his tug, it dropped to his side. His eyes clouded with confusion.

“Gibbs, I-” She couldn’t help but rub her thumb over his eyebrow. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I got caught up in the moment and I wasn’t thinking. That was wrong of me to do, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

She tried not to get distracted by his honesty. “But I can’t hitch my wagon to a horse that’s leaving town. Do you understand?”

He pushed his head into the pillows. “Yeah.”

There was so much more to say, but she could tell by the way he turned away from her touch that he was all out of words. That and the fact that the whiskey was finally winning its battle. His eyes fluttered shut and he surrendered. Under the pretense of making him more comfortable, she removed his heavy watch and placed it on the nightstand, then rolled off his socks and tossed them into a hamper in the corner. She needlessly adjusted the blanket around him until she couldn’t find an excuse to stay longer. With a sigh, she stood, walked to the bedroom door and turned off the light.

…..


	8. Chapter 8

…..

The high school marching band stomped up and down the corridors of his brain and he pressed his palms to his temples in an effort to make the banging go away. Blindly, he reached for the watch that somehow made it to the bedside table. 

_Jack_

_10:45_

_Funny how you put them in that order_ , his mind taunted him through the cotton in his brain.

Beside his watch was a large bottle of water and 2 extra strength Tylenol. Pushing himself into a half-sitting position, he cracked the cap seal, tossed the pills into his mouth and drank the entire bottle. He knew it would take at least 20 minutes for the water and the pills to take effect, so when he swung his legs over to sit on the edge of the bed, he did it slowly. With squinted eyes, he tried to piece together the previous night’s events.

_Jack_

_Yeah, you mentioned her already._

He would’ve given himself a head slap if he hadn’t known how much it would hurt. A slow, deep breath helped bring things into a kind of recollection. 

The bar. 

The dinner. 

The bull. 

The kiss.

His memory paused, rewound and played the last bit again. Her grip had been so strong, but her lips had been so soft. He had hesitated but her mouth had insisted and that was all he had needed. He could still feel her against him, still hear the little moan that she breathed between their lips.

And then-

A line formed between his eyes. God, he had been so damn drunk and he wondered why. Not that he and whiskey weren’t old friends, it’s just he normally celebrated that friendship in the privacy of his own home, usually in the basement with his boat. Something about the place and the memories made him want to forget, and yet, that was an easy excuse. He got drunk last night because goddamn Pete started a tab and he was happy to go along.

Happy.

He wondered when the last time was he could say that. Genuinely happy, not just going through the motions of contentment, not just pleased with work. He thought of Pete and Cate and how well they fit together. ‘Lifers’, as they had joked. Lifers to the area and to each other. 

_Jack_

_That’s the third-_

“Shut up,” he said aloud and immediately paid for his hard tone with a wince.

He wouldn’t deny the paltry bit of information Cate had given him about Jack made him want to know more, but it also highlighted another aspect of the night. 

_‘I can’t hitch my wagon to a horse that’s leaving town. Do you understand?’_

Yeah. Yeah, he understood.

…..

He had been avoiding the paperwork, not only because he hated the stuff but because he was avoiding all it entailed. The ranch. The money. The death of his dad. He dropped into the chair behind the desk, propping his chin on his folded hands. The manila envelope Robert had left behind was still on the desk, padded with God knew what decisions he’d have to make. Finding no other reason to avoid the inevitable, he cracked open another bottle of water (he was taking an amicable break from whiskey) and tore open the envelope’s seal. 

_It's not as daunting as you think,_ began the note left inside by the lawyer. _Properties and assets including his life insurance policy are put together with a blue paper clip. Fixed expenses like taxes are the red clip, and monthly expenses are green. Those are the things you might want to look over first. You might look into cancelling his cell phone and such things. The only thing not included are the deeds to the 3 newly acquired ranches._ Displeasure pulled down his mouth. _Because those were handled by an outside counsel, I never received copies. You'll have to ask Blake. Jackson made sure to take care of everything so you didn't have to, but still, I know this isn't an easy task. So if you need anything, call me anytime, day or night._ Robert's name was scrawled at the bottom.

Gibbs pushed the chair back enough to pull out the desk’s top drawer where his dad always kept the key for the locked one. He pushed around the collection of pens and clips and wrapped candy, to no avail. So he tried another tactic. The old coot had a copy of every key on his chain hiding somewhere in the house, in the event he lost the ring somewhere in the pasture. He remembered his mother’s teasing voice, about how easy it would be to find 10 pounds worth of metal if he ever dropped it. Smiling at the memory, he reached under the drawer and all the way to the back until his fingers felt the old standby, the small brass key taped to the bottom. He slid the key into the bottom dealer's lock and it rolled open with a simple pull. 

"Jesus, Dad." The drawer was full of files and folders in seemingly no distinct order except whatever had made sense to Jackson. He took a handful from the front and a handful from the back, hoping anything new would be in one of those places. The search was just beginning when his phone rang. He reached into his pocket and said, "Yeah?"

"'O-klahoma!'"

"Mitch, what'd I say about that?"

The laugh told Gibbs exactly what Mitch thought of the warning. "How's it going?"

"Sittin’ here in front of some paperwork," he admitted.

"Ah, I feel for you, Gibbs. It's not easy."

He knew the man had gone through his own loss last year. "Everything okay?"

"Oh yeah. But I got a tip on that government project. They're going to take early bids on Monday."

"It's Saturday."

"Here, too." He laughed at Gibbs' stony silence. "Councilman Dillaney has a contractor friend he's looking to get hired. Rumour has it."

Gibbs recognized the sarcasm. Everyone in southern California knew Rick Dillaney had 'investments' in a local construction company. The 'early bids' was just a ruse to get his investment an advantage.

"You start the numbers?"

"Hell yeah," Mitch replied. "Started them the day I told you the news."

He couldn't help but smile. Of course the man started them straight away. It was his work ethic and ability that made Gibbs hire him in the first place.

"What time on Monday?"

"Nine sharp. Looks like he's trying to catch us napping, literally and figuratively. What time do you think you'll get in?"

And just like that, the reminder of why he was there and the life he had 1300 miles away hit him. Showing up for a job bid was something Mitch would expect him to do as the owner of the company. The fact that Gibbs wasn’t jumping on the first available flight spoke volumes. It was a sound he blotted out by will.

“I’ll let ya know,” Gibbs replied. “Probably can’t get out until tomorrow. Figure through Dallas.”

“Sounds good. Give me a shout when you’ve got details. I’ll pick you up.”

“Yep.”

“Oh, Boss!”

He had just about hung up when he heard the shout. “Yeah?”

“Bring me one of those big cowboy hats, huh?”

Gibbs didn’t even bother to say good-bye.

…..

Just as he expected, the earliest flight was a red eye out of Dallas. Glancing at his watch, he quickly calculated what needed to be done in the time he had left. Fortunately, the papers he was looking for were in the second stack and he slipped them out from the pile. It was only when he reached for his glasses that he remembered he had left them behind in California. 

"Dammit." He squinted at the document without success. Just as he began to wonder if Vee had a cheater pair kicking around, the house phone rang. "Yeah," he said, his customary greeting.

"Is that a California thing?"

If he was honest, he wasn't sure she'd call, not sure if she'd want to avoid the Last Night discussion. And if he was really honest, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to have the discussion, either. But her voice was warm and cheerful, and he was glad she wasn’t there to see the stupid ass smile it brought to his face. 

“No, it’s a Gibbs thing,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Surprisingly, Blake sent me the information on the bulls. Had a chance to look at it this morning. Thought maybe I’d bring the trailer up?”

“Told ya you could come up whenever you wanted.” 

The standing invitation didn’t just apply to cattle selection, and she must have known it because her voice went soft.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure. You know.”

So she _did_ want to avoid the Last Night discussion. Considering he wasn’t one to delve into Feeling Talk either, he hummed an acknowledgment but went in another direction. “Come on up. And bring your glasses.”

…..

He could hear her park the truck and greet the dog before she showed up in the doorway of The Mahogany. She gingerly came into the room and he raised an eyebrow.

“Just a little sore,” she explained. “Been a long time since I had something that big-” Holding up a finger, she laughed at herself. “The first words that were about to come out of my mouth sounded better in my head, so I think I’ll leave them there.” She reached into her pocket for the glasses. “Were you serious?”

Instead of answering, he motioned her over to the desk. “I got somethin’ I need to look at.” 

“Okay.” Coming around the desk, she noticed the steaming cup of coffee, and without a word, he lifted it up by the rim and set it down closer to her. “For me?” 

He grinned at her joy, the tone in the same register as a kid in a candy store. “Yep.”

Suspicious, she bent over the cup and inhaled the aroma. “There’s sugar in this.”

Taking the glasses from her hand, he slipped them on his face. “Yep. That a problem?”

“Oh God, no. No problem at all.” A small breath blew the steam away and she took a sip. Then another. Her voice said everything her face already did. “Yes, please, more of this.” When she saw him laugh but not lift his head from the paper, she asked, “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

He was quiet for a second, then said, “Jackson got burned once by some cattle buyers in Arkansas. They agreed on a fee, but when they came to collect, the terms weren’t the same as they were when he signed. Guess they doctored the original somehow and he couldn’t prove it. After that, the old man secretly marked every document on the back in a kind of shorthand I could never figure out. One dot in the bottom right corner meant somethin’, two hash lines in the upper left meant somethin’ else.” He shrugged at the memory. “Crazy bastard.”

She looked over his left shoulder and even without her glasses, the contents of the documents he was reading became clear. “You’re going over the Montgomery sale. Why?”

Rather than answer, he asked a question of his own. “You see any dots or marks on this paper?”

He flipped it over and she leaned closer, squinting, and the citrus smell he quickly came to associate with her waft under his nose as her hair tickled his jaw. To cover his visceral reaction, he took off her glasses and tried to put them on her nose. She laughed, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand still while she peered through the lenses. He watched her eyes flicker over the blank paper, his own gaze caught up in her. She broke the spell when she shook her head.

“No. Nothing.” She turned her head and her nose nearly grazed his cheek, and the moment froze in time, brown eyes holding blue. When his eyes flicked down to her mouth, the spell was broken, and she leaned back ever so slightly. With a small cough, she said, “I take it that’s a good thing? Finding nothing, I mean.”

“It’s somethin’,” he answered, though not quite ready to look away.

Unable to withstand his gaze, she looked at the paper, and despite whatever feelings were running through her, her brain was still sharp enough to kick in. “You think the sale was falsified.” The last word hit her ears. “You think your father’s signature was falsified.”

The wonder in her voice brought him back to the matter at hand. “I can’t prove it, not yet. Which is why I need you to do another thing for me.”

Her reply was immediate. “Name it.”

“I can’t find any contact information on this lawyer. Robert said he was from out of town; said Dad got him so it wouldn’t put Robert in the middle.”

“Did your Dad tell him that, or did Blake tell him that?”

Caught up in the paperwork, it wasn’t something Gibbs had considered. “I don’t know. I’ll ask him.”

“So what do you need me to do? Find the lawyer?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know how to use a computer, do you?”

“I can Google.” She all but giggled at his faux indignation, and he grinned. “That, and I’m going back to California.” He saw her face the same time he heard the words, and he reached out for her wrist as she stepped away. “It’s not like that, Jack.” His thumb brushed over the pulse point. “I just gotta take care of some things. I gotta another life there.” He was angry at himself for not finding the right words. “I’m tryin’ here.”

She glanced down at his hand. “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot last night. You know, with-” She waved her free hand. “The kiss and everything.”

He frowned. “Way I remember it, we never got to the ‘everything’ part.”

His comment did exactly what it was intended to do, lifting her eyes and her smile. “Wow. So when do you leave?”

“Red eye outta Dallas. Be back on Friday.”

She couldn’t seem to help but touch his temple, the short bristle scratching her fingertip one way, smoothing soft against them the other way. He couldn’t seem to mind. Her smile told him everything.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll track down this lawyer. You go do whatever it is you need to do.” Almost reluctantly, she pulled her hand away. “And I should do what I need to do. Which is get these bulls.”

“You got the tag numbers?”

“I do.” 

He reached for his coffee, mindful not to grab the wrong cup, drained it and stood. “Then let’s go.”

…..

The direction gave Blake just enough time to leave his hiding post outside the office.

…..

Picking out the bulls was easy, saying their goodbyes was surprisingly not, as they seemed to be standing on a precipice neither knew how to manoeuver. He didn’t like the feeling, but he did like seeing her roll back on her heels with her hands in her back pockets as she tried to think of something to say. 

“Sure you don’t need a ride into Dallas?”

He shook his head. “It’s late. You work hard.”

She examined him through narrowed eyes. “Are you saying I need my beauty sleep?”

“Nope.” Though it was short, the reply was honest and it was that directness that brought pink to her cheeks and her eyes down to her boots in a way he found endearing.

“Bastard,” she whispered, an audible admission that he was the one to bring the heat in her face.

“So they tell me.”

Her head lifted and she smiled. “I bet they do.” Before he could retort, she jerked her chin at her truck. "They’re getting restless. Call me when you land? Just want to make sure you get there okay." 

There didn’t seem to be much more that needed to be said, so she shrugged and walked past him, but not before she touched his arm and laid a chaste but lingering kiss on his jaw. Whatever he had intended on saying was caught up in the image of her walking away, and his stare didn’t go unnoticed, even if she had her back to him. 

"Eyes up, Cowboy."

…..


	9. Chapter 9

…..

He was surprised at how quickly he had grown accustomed to the pace of Oklahoma, because all the noise and the traffic and the density that he had lived with for so long in California seemed too loud, too thick and too much, even in the early, early hours of the morning. It didn’t help that Mitch drove like a madman and shouted at all offences like a sailor. Gibbs held onto the overhead handle as the truck whipped through traffic. 

"Not the Daytona 500, Mitch," he casually remarked. 

The comment did nothing more than make the man grin. "How was O! Kla-" The glare stopped him in his tracks. Still, Mitch offered a playful shrug. "Can't help it."

"Don’t make me take the hat back."

He looked at Gibbs twice, uncertain if his boss was kidding or not. "You're shitting me."

"Nope. I'll definitely take it back."

Mitch's laugh filled the truck. "You're the best, Boss. So, it went okay?"

His answer was interrupted by his phone. He recognized the area code but not the number. He flipped it open and said, "Yeah."

"So it really _is_ a Gibbs thing."

Thirteen hundred miles, yet her voice was right there in his ear. "How'd you get this number?" The question held zero accusation, all curiosity. 

"I Googled it. You'd be amazed what you can find on the internet." She let the invasive implications hang in the air just long enough for her to banish his fear with a laugh. "Just kidding. I called Robert and he had it."

"Gonna have to talk to him about giving my number out to strange women."

"Oh, I already had the talk with him."

As he was beginning to find out, she had the ability to make him laugh like no other. He tried to hide it with a gruff, "Whattya want, Jack?"

His feigned sternness didn’t do anything to dissuade her. "Oh, it's going to be one of _those_ calls, is it?"

He prayed Mitch's attention was captivated by the traffic and not by the flush he felt in his face and the shift in his seat at her sultry undertone.

"Jack…"

Again, if her laugh was anything to go by, the warning went nowhere, but she let him off the hook. "You were supposed to call me when you landed."

“It’s a 3 and a half hour flight and a 2 hour time difference, Jack. I don’t know which end is up. I think it’s 1:30 in the mornin’.”

“One forty-five,” Mitch supplied helpfully.

“Who’s that?” Jack asked.

“It’s Mitch, my ride and the biggest pain in my ass.”

“I like him already!”

Gibbs couldn’t figure out how he was getting tag-teamed over the phone by two people who had never met. “Why don’t ya Google his number, then?”

“Ooh, who’s a cranky bear when he doesn’t get his sleep?” she asked.

He was about to growl into the phone until he realized it would only prove her point. “I made it. Anythin’ else?” Before she could answer, a thought occurred to him. “It’s almost 4 in the mornin’ there. What are you doin’ up?”

He could almost see the sheepish shrug in her voice.

“Just wanted to make sure you made it okay. That a problem?”

The defensiveness in her voice only served to draw attention to the care in her words.

“Nope.”

“Okay. Good. And I got a contact number for that lawyer. He’s up in Tulsa.”

He didn’t expect her to come up with the information so soon, and his reply told her as much. “Good work.”

“Wow,” she said, pleased at the compliment. “Keep giving praise like that and a girl might start thinking you like her.”

“Surprised it took her this long to start.” He took advantage of the long pause from her end to grin and say, “Gotta go. Mitch is startin’ to look at me funny.” 

“‘Bye, Oklahoma!” Mitch shouted.

Gibbs decided her laugh was the greatest way to end the day.

“Okay. Let me know when you get back. I mean it.”

“Yep.” He snapped the phone shut and looked straight ahead, but if he thought he could avoid Mitch’s piqued curiosity, he had another thing coming.

“So… Oklahoma was good, huh?”

“Mitch,” Gibbs warned.

"When's she coming to California?" The question was meant mostly in jest, but Gibbs' non-reply went beyond his usual silence. A break in traffic allowed Mitch to take a good look at Gibbs in the dark cab. "You are shitting me. You're thinking of moving out to Oklahoma." It was a statement, not a question. The men had known each other long enough that not everything needed to be said. Yet it didn't stop Mitch from asking, "You serious?"

Mercifully, the truck pulled into Gibbs' driveway, and he was saved from coming up with an answer he didn't even know himself.

"Mitch, right now all I'm serious about is a hot shower and a bed." He pushed the door open and wearily dropped out of the truck. Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed his duffel, hitching it over his shoulder. "Hat's in the box," he said, tilting his head. "See you at 8." He didn't wait for Mitch's joyous whoop.

…..

Mitch was many things Gibbs appreciated, and prompt was one of them. He also knew how Gibbs liked his coffee, which made it two. It was those things that bought Gibbs' silence when he climbed into the truck at 7:59 and took the offered brew from Mitch's hand. Mitch didn't seem to recognize the gesture for what it was.

"You like my hat?"

"Can't ya tell by the look on my face?"

Mitch blew off the sarcasm. "The barista gave me her phone number. The ladies love cowboys." He smirked at Gibbs' grunt. "But why am I telling you that, huh?" He punctuated his tease with a wink, ignoring the glare he got in return. “I bet Miss Oklahoma goes all sweet over you in a hat. Gotta photo of her on your phone?”

“Jesus, Mitch, I never thought I’d say this, but can ya just drive?”

…..

He could be the biggest pain in the ass with his constant ribbing, but when it came down to business, Gibbs wouldn’t have wanted anyone else in the meeting but Mitch. The numbers were a perfect balance between cost and profitability, and he had surprised the council members by presenting 3 subcontractor agreements for lumber, cement and steel. To no one’s surprise, Rick Dillaney was the only opposing vote. Mitch touched the brim of his hat in thanks, and winked at a very attentive Councillor Melissa Benton.

“Let’s go before ya get arrested,“ Gibbs said, tugging at Mitch’s elbow.

Back in the truck, Mitch was all business again. “I’ll get those subcontractors to sign today and have the city plans faxed over to the office. We’ll have the Naismith project done by the end of the week. Gives us plenty of time to plot out this one.”

“You did good work today, Mitch.”

Gibbs’ praise was usually in deeds, not words, so the comment caught Mitch by surprise. 

“You okay, Boss?” he asked. “Have you spoken to your doctor?” The glare brought out Mitch’s grin. 

Turning away, Gibbs stared out the window, weighing his options, measuring his words. “You ever think of running your own company?”

Mitch shook his head. “Maybe at one time, but I’m too comfortable here. I like the routine and the rhythm. Pay’s not bad, too.” He frowned. “You’re not thinking of firing me, are you?”

The question wasn’t at all serious and Gibbs responded in kind. With a chuckle, he said, “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve thought about it.”

“Hey!” The chuckle grew into a laugh that Mitch shared with him before getting serious again. “Is this about Oklahoma?”

Gibbs was suddenly interested in the nothing that was happening in the distance. “Yeah, it might be.”

“Shit.” The word was whispered in wonder. “I gotta tell you, Jethro, you’re surprising the hell out of me.”

“Surprisin’ the hell outta myself.”

The moment settled for a while, then Mitch spoke again. “So what’s the game plan? You’ve obviously been thinking about it.”

“Right now? I just need you to take care of things. Just run it the way you’ve been doin’. You’ll get a raise startin’ today. See what you think of it, of runnin’ things day to day.”

“And what if that turns into ‘week to week’?” 

Gibbs shrugged, a small tell that he was about to say something big in the most easy going of ways. “Then maybe we sit down and talk about a partnership.” He saw Mitch’s shocked reaction out of the corner of his eye. “I built somethin’ good here an’ I’m not ready to give that up just yet. But maybe-” He smiled at what he was about to say. “Maybe I’m ready to build somethin’ else.” He turned to look at his most trusted friend. “I can already see you runnin’ the numbers in your head. It’s what I like about you.”

He inhaled and exhaled deeply. “It’s a lot to think about.”

“I know,” Gibbs agreed. “You don’t have to answer right away. Give it some thought. But the raise still stands.”

Mitch nodded with thoughtful purpose before asking, “You sure you don’t have a picture of her?”

…..

“He’s cute.”

Mitch had wrangled Gibbs’ phone from him to take a selfie, and promptly sent it to Jack. Now, 10 hours later, Gibbs somehow found himself dialing her number.

“That’s Mitch’s way of saying he wants a picture of you.” He leaned back on his couch, the TV muted on the sportschannel, a cold beer creating a condensation ring on his cotton boxers as he balanced it on his pelvis. 

Her chuckle was low and dangerously inviting. “Oh, I’m not sure where I am and what I’m wearing is appropriate to send to a stranger.” She stressed ‘stranger’, purposely excluding him from the word. The rest was all suggestion.

“Jesus, Sloane.” The cold beer did little to bring down the heat. He tried to use the sports highlights as a distraction, but it lasted all of 8 seconds. “So, what _are_ ya wearin’?”

Her purr would be the death of him. "You first."

Looking down at himself, he had to admit, "Not much."

"Ooh, Cowboy! Don't suppose _you_ know how to take selfies?" Before he had a chance to turn his snort into words, she laughed. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm wearing boxers and a t-shirt. Not very sexy, I'm afraid."

"Don’t suppose _you_ know how to take selfies?” Him parroting her question only made her laugh more.

“So,” she said, “you had a good day?”

Shifting back into the cushions, he rubbed his hand through his still damp hair. “Yeah. Closed a big deal with the city, so that felt good.” He heard a faint clicking sound in the background. “What’s that?”

“I know this is going to make you roll your eyes, but I just realized, it feels like I know you. But I don’t. So I’m doing what any person in the 21st century would do to find information on someone famous. Don’t grunt. You’re famous.”

He ignored her label. “And what is it you’re doin’?”

“Looking you up on Wikipedia.” Before he could ask what that meant, she let out a soft whistle. “Wow. These houses are beautiful.”

“I’m not followin’.”

“I typed your name into the big internet machine. That gave me links to other bits of information. I click on those and-”

“Jacqueline.”

She huffed at the name. “I’m looking at your company website,” she summarized. “You do incredible work.”

He wasn’t sure why her compliment warmed him the way it did. “I don’t design them,” he said, trying to deflect. "I just build them.”

Her tone indicated she was having none of his modesty. “You still have to build them. There’s a lot of care in these buildings.” There was a pause where he assumed she was doing some more reading. “You _were_ divorced three times!”

The exclamation was rolled into a laugh that made it hard for him to take offence. “Guess you really can’t teach old dogs new tricks.”

Though the lightness was still in her voice, it was threaded with sincerity. “Not discounting the old dog’s stubbornness, but maybe his tricks are just fine and people need to stop thinking he needs to learn new ones.”

Her straightforwardness shouldn’t have caught him by surprise, but it did. “How much do I owe ya for that, Dr. Sloane?”

The question hung in the air until the meaning hit her. “How did you know that?”

He shrugged though she couldn’t see it. “Found it on Wicklepedia.”

His mangling of the word curbed the accusation in her reply. “Mom told you.” 

Still, it had a slight sting to it that he wanted to soothe. “Can you blame her? She’s proud of you.” This time, the noncommittal response came from her. “How was your day?” he asked, gently redirecting the conversation.

_Small talk, Gibbs? Jesus, you’ve got it bad._

Her hum let him know she was well aware of his tactic, but she said, “I called the Stinson boys to come on the weekend. Figured there was no point waiting until the end of the month and using up all my feed in the meantime. That, and, well, that’s when the bills come due.” 

She said it in a sing-song voice, but he was beginning to understand the seriousness of her situation. As was his nature, he went with action as his natural response. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Last thing I need is for you to come riding in on your white horse and saving the day. The town would never let me live it down.” The harsh edge must’ve hit her ears the same time it hit his, because in a softer, kinder voice, she added, “I appreciate it, I really do. But once I get this sale through, we’ll be okay for a while.”

He knew all about pride, but also knew there was nothing he could do if she didn’t let him. He also knew selling the cattle would give her ranch enough leeway to delay her needing to ask. “Pretty sure the horse is grey.”

…..

He had told her he’d see her on Friday, but bad weather was coming in and he wanted to be back before it hit. That and the sun was too damn hot. Or so he kept telling himself. Regardless of the reason, by the time Wednesday rolled around, he was itching to go. He had one last dinner with Mitch to sort out some details, both short term and long. 

“Man, you’re going to miss these burgers,” Mitch said around a mouthful of meat. Seeing Gibbs’ raised eyebrow and glance up at his hat, he grinned. “Yeah, I guess not, considering where you’re going.” He took another bite. “You sure- I mean, you really want me running things?”

The burger paused before it hit Gibbs’ mouth. “Havin’ second thoughts?”

“No,” he replied, his voice holding nothing but strength and conviction. “But you have to admit, this is all a little out of character for you. You know, the guy who still has the same truck from ‘86.” Gibbs grunted. “Let’s be honest, change isn’t your thing. That being said,” he popped a fry into his mouth, “it looks good on you.”

GIbbs tried to stare him down, but the two had known each other so long that Mitch was having none of it. As a reward, Gibbs took out his cell phone, flipped it open and handed it across the table. After their call on Monday, Jack had sent a photo of herself from the chest up, wearing a cotton tank top and a smile. It was innocuous enough that she had added the text, ‘For Mitch’, but it had only made Gibbs squirm, knowing what she was wearing out of lens range. Showing it now to Mitch, he kept his knowledge to himself.

“That her?” he asked, taking the phone from Gibbs’ hand. “Wow. She have a sister?” A second attempt at a glare had the same result as the first and Mitch just laughed. “Okay,” he said, this time his voice sincere. “That’s definitely something worth changing for.”

Though he was never one to seek out the approval of others, Gibbs appreciated it when it came from a friend. He also knew he was asking a hell of a lot out of the blue from that friend, and he appreciated that, too. “I’ll come back in 2 weeks, see how the city job’s goin’.”

Mitch didn’t ask if he trusted him- Gibbs would never have asked if he didn’t. They both had their changes coming and they were both looking forward to the challenge. Nodding, Mitch said, “Sounds good.” He finished off his fries and winked, “Maybe bring me back a black hat this time? You know, so I can switch it up with the ladies?”

…..


	10. Chapter 10

…..

It wasn’t quite the red eye, but by the time he landed in Dallas and added the time difference, it was just past midnight with a 2 hour drive ahead of him. He was halfway up the long drive when the rain came down. The sky opened so fast that by the time he made it to the house, the wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour. Through the sheet of water, he could see balls of light coming from the barn and he knew the storm had caught everyone off-guard. Throwing the truck into park, he jumped out and ran to the open doors where a handful of men were saddling up. Dave Hammond was the first one to see him.

“Gibbs!” he shouted, tossing a rope on the horse. 

He could hear the surprise in the man’s voice. “Figured you could use a hand.”

Hammond grinned. “Wouldn’t hurt. We got the feed under the shelter yesterday, but this wasn’t supposed to roll in until tomorrow night.”

“Where’s Blake?”

“Already out there.”

“Dad still have extra hands on the payroll?” Gibbs began strapping the saddle on his horse.

Dave nodded, hoisting himself up. “They’re out there now with Blake. I came back to make sure these two put the saddles on straight.” At one’s loud objection, Dave explained, “My brothers. Hope that’s okay.”

“As long as the saddles are on straight,” Gibbs said, looking up and letting Dave know he appreciated the support. He stroked the horse’s cheek, blue eyes on brown. “Ready, girl?” With a foot in the stirrup, he swung a leg over and nestled in the saddle. To the horse and the hands, he said, “Let’s go.”

…..

Without a break in the open land, the wind whipped his face, pushing the rain sideways, but the horse refused to be bullied. Nights in the city could never compare to the black nothingness of country skies that sucked up every inch of light in the storm. Only the barest sliver of white could be seen as Blake and the extra hands were already working hard to corral the cattle out of the valley. Gibbs knew they were in a race to move them to higher ground before the water flooded the low lands. He nudged his horse with his heels to join them.

As they got closer, Blake shone his flashlight in Gibbs’ face, but if he had anything to say about his arrival, he kept it to himself. Instead, he directed Dave to go around the hill to funnel the cattle through the far gate. He shouted through the wind, gesticulating his instructions to which Dave gave a ‘thumbs up’ signal and turned his horse, but not before signalling for Gibbs to follow.

In the end, it didn’t take much more than 30 minutes to coerce the cattle to better pastures, but it felt like hours. They were all soaked to the bone, weary and tired, and the horses were about the same. Their flashlights bobbed in the darkness as they made their way back to the barn, the rain letting up just enough to allow man and beast to see more than 5 feet ahead of them. A light in the distance caught Gibbs’ eye, a faint spark around the Sloane ranch. Catching Hammond’s attention with a short, ‘Hey!’, he jerked his head towards the light. “Gonna see if she needs help,” Gibbs said. 

Dave nodded. “You need an extra hand?”

He shook his head. “She’s probably got it under control.”

The truth made Hammond smile. “No doubt. Take care out there.”

Gibbs peeled away from the group and the horse seemed to know exactly where to go, bringing them to the small path that connected the pastures at the big oak. They were almost on top of the fence when he saw their visitor.

“Happy!” His voice didn’t match the name. The calf, who must’ve thought the fence was still broken, was now caught up in the wire. The sound it was making was pitiful, and his horse let him know with a distressed whine.

“I know, I know.” He pulled the horse through the gate to come around the calf. Sizing up the situation -and the calf- he unhooked the rope from the saddle and tried to remember the tips the kid had given him. He had a hard enough time roping from the ground; it was going to be something else to try it from a horse. But he also knew there wasn’t a hope in hell he was going to get to ground and yank the calf from the fence. So with patience and a muttered prayer, he released the lasso and let it fly. 

“She’ll never believe this,” he told the horse who shook the water out of its mane as if agreeing with him. On his first try, the loop went right over the calf’s head and around its neck, and he tightened the slack with a quick pull. “That was the hard part, Happy. Let’s go.” When the calf refused to move, Gibbs leaned forward in the saddle and barked, “Hey!” Brown eyes looked up at the shout and when he jerked his head at the calf, the animal dutifully backed up from the fence and followed behind the horse that was tired of being out in the rain. “You an’ me both, girl.”

…..

“That’s it!” Jack shouted in the downpour as the last of the cattle got corralled. Signalling everyone to come under the barn’s shelter, she waited for them to catch their breaths. “Everyone okay?” Three faces looked back and nodded. She let out a long, deep exhale. “Good. We did all we could, but I couldn’t have done it without you. So thank you.” The three men who had volunteered to help once the storm was on the horizon tipped their hats or brushed off her thanks with a smile. 

“Anytime, Ms. Sloane,” one rider said. “Anythin’ else we can do for ya?”

“No, but I appreciate it, Red. Come by on the weekend and I’ll have some money for you.”

“Tell yer Mom to have some of that pecan pie instead,” another ranch hand grinned.

Jack smiled in return. “They’re fresh out of the oven at 11am. Don’t tell her I told you.”

When they left, she took the opportunity to look around the barn and lamented the fact she had yet to replace the roof. The shelter was broad and tall with bulbs strung every 10 feet to bring some light into the big dark building, but she could see the rain coming through spots where the wood had worn and split from years of wind and rain and sun. While she, too, had a feed shelter out in the pasture that kept the hay moderately dry, it was here where the majority of the feed was kept, along with the horses and a few newborn calves. She hoped it would hold out just a little while longer.

“Room for one more?”

She spun at the sound, not because of the question but because of the voice. The horse stood under the beam of the open door and Gibbs was soaked in the saddle from his ball cap to his boots. But there was something in the way he sat there, tall and broad, eyes stormy blue under the brim that took the answer from her throat and she could offer nothing more than the brightest smile she had. Without another word, he slid from the saddle and hitched the horse to a nearby post, easy and casual, but with an intent that seemed laser focused on her. His long strides quickly made up the distance between them and he kissed her so quickly, so fiercely that a small ‘Oh!’ barely had a chance to escape. His hands circled her waist, pulling her tightly to him, and once she got her bearings, her hands grabbed his wet collar, pressing her body closer while her kiss enthusiastically met his, measure for measure. The moan was very likely hers but if his physical response to her willing mouth was anything to go by, it might have been his. The rain dripped from his eyelashes to her mouth, a cool splash on heated lips; his hands burned through her shirt, a hot touch on cool skin. The dichotomy made her lightheaded, and as if he anticipated her reaction, he curled his shoulders around her, drawing a hand between her shoulder blades, holding her shirt in a tight fist, his hips pressing flush against hers. The blatant display of his want had her head drop back in surprise and desire and it allowed him to move his oral assault to her neck. She felt her laugh vibrate under his lips.

“Stop,” she said, but there was no regret or hesitation in her voice. Instead, it was unbridled joy. He pulled back and looked into her eyes and she wondered what he saw. “Happy.”

His gaze flickered from her eyes to her mouth and back again. Tilting his head back and forth as if contemplating the word, he pressed his lips together and said, “Yeah.”

Shaking her head, she laughed. “I’m glad to hear it. But I was talking about the calf?” Her attention went over his shoulder and he followed it by turning his head. While he had tied up the horse, he had neglected to do the same with the calf who was now bored with the proceedings and was making its way back out into the rain. Gibbs bolted after him, yelling, “Hey!”

…...

After he chased the calf back into the barn, they had closed up and she convinced him to stay until the storm passed or his clothes dried, whichever came first. Which was how he ended up on her couch in a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, nursing a hot cup of coffee and his clothes in the dryer. As he lowered the mug, his eyes caught the name emblazoned across the chest. His disdain didn’t go unnoticed.

“Not an Army guy, huh?”

“The branch is fine.” He let the rest of his thought go unspoken.

“Ah. It’s more the man who wore it.”

He shrugged at the needlessness of his newfound jealousy. “I got no room to talk,” he admitted. “Four times.”

“Mmmm yes,” she pretended to remember. “I read that on Wikipedia.” Laughing at his scowl, she tucked her feet under her and rested her knees against his thigh. “We’ve all got our pasts,” she said, less teasing, more gently. “Nothing we can do about it except look forward.”

He caught himself touching her hair, grounding him to the now. She was right. Of course she was. The trip back home had started as nothing more than a trip into the past, but she had somehow made it a look into the future. “You really _are_ a head doctor.”

She slapped his touch away with feigned annoyance. “Remind me to tell my mother to mind her own business.”

He held up his hand in surrender, then went right back to her hair. “Not me, Sloane. I don’t doubt for a second she’d tan my hide even now.”

She turned into his palm, clearly savouring the touch. Her eyes were just about closed when a line formed between her brows. “When did you get in?”

“Took a 9 o’clock flight in from L.A.”

She did the quick math. “You literally just showed up.”

“Yep,” he replied, softening the line with his thumb. The caress drew out her yawn.

“Sorry,” she said, a sleepy giggle under her apology.

“Don’t apologize.” He tugged her feet out from under her and laid them across his lap while helping her lower to the couch pillow. 

“I’m just going to rest my eyes for a second,” she assured him. “The dryer’ll buzz when it’s done.”

If it did, neither heard it.

…..

He felt several things at once: the soft hair against his cheek, the warm body under his arm, the firm ass pressed into his groin, and a set of deep brown eyes looking at him. Only the first 3 things belonged to Jack. The latter belonged to a curious dog.

“Blue,” he rasped out.

“Your dog tattled on you.”

Still half-asleep, Gibbs mumbled, “Not my dog.” The words were barely out of his mouth when his eyes flew open and he bolted into a half-sitting position. Suddenly, he was a teenager again. “It’s not what it looks like, Mrs. Sloane.” 

Jack wasn’t nearly as concerned about her mother standing in the doorway as he was. Barely moving, she said, “Nothing happened, Mom.”

“That’s a shame. That couch hasn’t gotten any action since the 70s.”

“Mom!” Propping herself on her elbows, she brushed back her hair and said to Gibbs, “Don’t believe her. We bought this couch 6 years ago.”

"But the action part is true. Sadly."

"Mom!"

The admonishment rolled off Julia's back. "Pancakes, Jethro?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then be in the kitchen in 15 minutes or I feed it to your dog. Come on, boy." The dog barked once and followed her out of the room.

"Look at you," Jack said, reaching up to pat down his cowlick. "All nervous teenage boy."

He side-eyed her and caught her out with a kiss as determined as the one the night before, and he slid his hand under her cotton shirt for good measure. They both revelled in the feel of skin on skin, though he was learning she was much more vocal about it.

"Shhhh," he scolded against her lips. "You're gonna get me grounded."

Her smile curled under his. Then, with a brush of her fingers across his short hair, she said, "I like that- the way you kiss me." Her eyes held his with no embarrassment. "Like you mean it."

She felt right under him, felt like she was a fit he hadn't had in a long time. He figured he should tell her, wondered what the right words were, "Guess I better get used to 'talking about my feelings'." He pretended to roll his eyes at the idea. "Bein' in love with a head doctor." 

If her reaction was any indication of what he could expect, he started to think 'talking' might not be such a bad idea and the right words weren't so hard after all. Her eyes went bright and her lips parted to let out a contented sigh, and he felt her body go soft under him, like she was relinquishing any resistance she had left. But if he thought he was the victor, that was quickly dispelled when her hands slid under the band of his sweats and cupped his ass. Her laughter was his reward for his startled jump.

"Your mother is in the next room," he admonished, though he made no motion to move.

"Technically, she's 2 rooms over. But fine." Her sigh was long and dramatic. "I smell the bacon anyway."

Demoted to second place in the pecking order, he rolled enough to let her off the couch but didn't quite relinquish their contact, letting his fingers trail down her bare arm to her wrist. She turned her palm over and squeezed his hand. 

“Washroom’s down the hall,” she said, letting her touch linger. “But I can’t promise there’ll be any coffee left if you dawdle.”

She went to pull away but he tugged her back, bringing her mouth down to his, kissing her the way she liked, the way he was finding he liked, too.

“Kiss me like that again, and the coffee can wait,” she breathed against his lips.

He pretended to contemplate the options, then gently gave her a shove. “Get goin’. The coffee won’t stay hot forever.”

Her mouth dropped in feigned shock. “Ass. Guess I deserve that for choosing bacon over you.” She began walking away, a purposeful sway to her hips. “I make no apologies.”

…..

“Julia.” He stepped into the kitchen and gave her cheek a kiss before grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting at the table.

The matriarch cocked an eyebrow at Jack and mouthed, “Ooooh!” She set a plate in the middle of the table, pancakes stacked high. A plate of bacon soon followed. Gibbs smartly deferred the latter to Jack and reached for the pancakes. The three sat together, enjoying the breakfast, the coffee and the company. When Jack topped up Gibbs’ coffee and poured another for herself, she pretended not to notice the attention as she scooped 4 spoons of sugar into the drink.

“Judge me all you want,” she said, then looked down at Blue. “You don’t judge me, do you? No, you don’t. Good boy.”

“That might have somethin’ to do with you feeding him bacon from the table, but what do I know?” Julia stood to clear the plates, but Gibbs motioned her to sit while he took over the duties.

“Jethro,” Julia said, appreciating his help, “you can have breakfast here anytime you like. Even spend the night.”

“Oh my God, Mom.”

“I make no apologies.”

At the familiar phrase, Gibbs turned to look at Jack who raised a warning finger. “Don’t even think it,” she said.

“Would dream of it.” Though his smirk said otherwise.

When he sat, she diverted the conversation, partly out of necessity but mostly out of curiosity. “Don’t let me forget to give that lawyer information to you.”

Julia glanced between them. “What lawyer information?”

Uncertain how much he wanted to be revealed, Jack tilted her head at Gibbs, letting him lead the answer.

He shrugged, knowing if he couldn’t trust Julia Sloane, he couldn’t trust anyone. “Lookin’ into the 3 ranches Dad bought. Somethin’ hinky with the paperwork.”

“Hinky? In what way?”

“Not sure the signature’s legal.”

He said it so casually, even if the ramifications were enormous.

“Jethro Gibbs, are you tellin’ me you think your daddy’s signature was forged?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. But copied onto the deed somehow. Which is what I gotta figure out. Jack tracked down the lawyer who co-signed. Gonna give him a call, try an’ get some answers.”

Julia reached out to touch his arm. “You know what this means if his signature’s not legal, don’t you?”

“Yep. But I gotta prove it, first.”

Jack stood and said, “Give me a second. I wrote the information on the file you gave me.”

The moment she left the room, Julia slyly looked at Gibbs. “So. You and Jacqueline.”

“I bet you’re the only one who gets away with callin’ her that.”

“Don’t you try and change the subject. Though you’re not wrong.”

He grinned at the honesty. “What was the question?”

“No question,” she replied. “Just a pure statement of fact- you break her heart and I will shove that Heisman so far up your-”

“Here it-” Jack froze in the doorway. “What’s going on? Mother.”

“What?” Her eyes were innocently wide, her hands held up.

Gibbs laughed. “That’s my cue.” Standing, he went around the table and took the file from Jack. “Come up for dinner? I can give ya your glasses back.”

“That’s where they went!”

“Six?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Six,” she repeated, because it was the only word that could formulate in her mind when he was looking at her with the same stormy eyes that had pinned her in the barn. 

He leaned in, mindful of their audience. His mouth skimmed past her lips to leave a hot breath on her ear. "I'll tell Vee to make a pie."

His delivery was so serious, so intentionally seductive that she burst out laughing. He stepped back into the warmth of the sound, enjoyed its notes, then looked down at the dog.

"Let's go." 

Blue didn't move. 

"Let's go," Gibbs repeated, but when the dog gave a little whine and looked up at Jack, he frowned. "She lures you in with bacon and that's it, huh? Traitor," he accused, though he could hardly blame the animal for falling under Jack's spell. It had taken him less than 2 weeks to do the same.

"Is that what it was, Jethro?" Julia's lips twitched with mirth.

"Mother."

"Uh-oh. She just called me 'Mother' again. You'd best be off."

He kissed Julia's cheek before following her orders, without the dog. After giving enough time for Gibbs to be out of earshot, she turned to her daughter.

"So?"

Jack shrugged. "So what?" She sipped her coffee, not giving an inch to her mother's inquisitive nature.

"So, you and Jethro Gibbs."

Jack peered over her mug. "So where did you say you'd stick the Heisman?"

Caught out by her previous conversation with Gibbs, Julia turned to the sink. "Best get these dishes done. And you'd better check on the storm damage."

"That's what I thought." She placed the cup in the sink, but relented a little by giving her mom a kiss on the cheek, right where Gibbs had done the same. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you, too, Bean. Now go. You've got a lot to do before 6."

"And just like that, we're back where we started. Mother." She lightened the accusation with another kiss. "Come on, Blue. Or whatever your name is."

…..


	11. Chapter 11

…..

"Surprised to see you out there last night."

Gibbs had found Blake in the barn and the ranch hand greeted him with the comment.

"Heard the storm was comin' in," Gibbs replied. He ran his hand down his favourite horse. "Hey, girl," he whispered. 

Blake tossed the saddle over his own horse. "Came in faster than we expected. Jackson always had good men on hand, though. Ranch's been fortunate that way."

Gibbs didn't know if he was purposely including himself in that group, and didn't care. But it did give him the opportunity to ask, "Dave Hammond one of those men?"

The man narrowed his eyes, unsure of where the question was coming from or where it was going. "One of the best. Present company excluded, of course."

Gibbs nodded but didn't give him the benefit of agreeing with the exclusion. "What's the plan today?"

Perceiving it as a slight, Blake squared his shoulders and looked down his nose. "Gotta check the damage. Make sure the feed shelters held. Walk the fences to make sure there's no open spots."

"There's extra supplies from when I fixed the fence by the old oak." Gibbs feigned helpfulness while holding the man's stare.

Hoisting himself onto the horse, Blake asked, "You comin'?"

"No," was the simple reply.

He waited for more, and when nothing came, he tightened his fists around the reins and heeled the horse into motion. Gibbs stepped aside but didn't utter another word.

…..

“Earl Drummond.”

“Mr. Drummond, Leroy Gibbs. Wondered if I could talk to you about some work you did for my dad.”

“Leroy Gibbs. The football player?”

It still caught him off-guard when someone outside of home made the reference. “Long time ago, yeah.”

“Used to watch you with my own dad. Shame about your knee. What exactly can I do for ya, son?”

Gibbs had the files spread out over the desk. “I’m lookin’ at some paperwork to some ranches in the area that he bought over the last 12 months. That ring a bell?”

“Sure, sure. Three ranches, if I’m not mistaken. What’s your question?”

“Well, Mr Drummond, I guess what I’m askin’ is, did you witness my dad sign the papers?”

There was a short pause on the other end of the phone. “No, I did not. I suggested I come down from Tulsa but he assured me there was no need. I faxed him the papers, for which he got the signatures of each owner to sign, then he faxed them back to me with his signature and a witness.”

“I’m guessin’ that witness was Blake Wilson?”

“Yes, now that you mention it.” There was another pause. “Is there a problem, Mr. Gibbs?”

Gibbs held his tongue as best he could; he knew in all likelihood the lawyer did everything above board and assumed all the parties did as well. Rubbing his fingers into his forehead, he said, “Did Jackson assure you there was no need, or did Blake?”

“I really don’t like where this is goin’.” His voice was concerned, not defensive. “It was Mr. Wilson.” A sigh rolled down the line. “I had older signed documents that I compared your daddy’s signature to; it’s standard procedure when I’m not present. I had the same for the 3 sellers, too. Everything looked exactly as it should have.”

He had no doubt. “It wasn’t the signature that was the problem,” he explained. “It was a little trick he used to do. You wouldn’t know to look for it if you didn’t know about it.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell ya, son. If you can prove it, the documents’ are worthless and we can reverse the proceedings.”

“Yeah, that might be a problem. Figured as much. Just needed to hear it from you.”

“If there’s anything I can do, you let me know. I don’t like thinkin’ I was part of somethin’ hinky.”

“Thanks for your time, Mr. Drummond.”

“Any time, Mr. Gibbs. Still got your Rookie card on my shelf at home. Hell of a quarterback.”

Gibbs ended the conversation with a ‘thanks’ before hanging up and contemplating his next move.

…..

She showed up at five to six with a bottle of whiskey and a smile. He pulled her in from the porch and kissed her like he knew she wanted, like he wanted. Her hand hooked onto his belt and kept him against her until she broke away with a sigh. 

“That’s better.”

The dog barked, drawing Gibbs’ eyes downward. “Look who’s strolled back in.” Blue spun once and sat. “Go see Vee. Tell her I told her to give you somethin’.”

Jack watched the dog leave and shook her head. “I can’t believe he understands you.”

“He thinks ‘Vee’ means ‘kitchen’. That’s all he needs to know.” Looking down at her free hand, his chin tilted at the bottle.

“Figured we might need this; you _did_ call the lawyer, right?”

“Yep.” He enjoyed the fact she didn’t seem to realize she was still tugging on his belt, all tactile and close.

“Not good?”

“Nope. Pretty much what I figured. Just can’t prove it.”

“Then how-”

He silenced her with a quick kiss. “Hafta figure out somethin’ else. He’ll probably be there for dinner. Behave.”

“Great,” she said, her voice in complete contrast to the word. Holding up the bottle, she added, “Guess it’s really a good thing I brought this.”

…..

“Behave,” Gibbs quietly repeated when he felt her go stiff at Blake’s appearance in the dining room door. The hand she had left on his thigh because she couldn’t seem to _not_ touch him, clenched just enough to draw the word out of him.

“Blake.” A cheerfulness was injected into her greeting that no one believed.

“Jacqueline.”

Gibbs sucked in the flinch when he felt her hand squeeze tighter. 

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” Blake continued, oblivious to her reaction and Gibbs’ silent response. “How’re things after last night?”

Had the question come from anyone else, she might have considered it genuine. As it was, she sweetly replied, “Wonderful. No holes in the fence for the calves to wander through, never to be seen again.”

Ignoring her jibe, he turned to Gibbs. “Old post got ripped out by the pond, but other than that, we’re all good. We’ll leave the cattle on the high pasture for another day until the water drains.”

Valerie entered the room with a large platter. “Shop talk’s over. Time to eat.”

Jack approved of the roast with a hum and a sigh. “It looks amazing.”

She grinned. “Save room for dessert- made the pie just for you.”

Silence fell upon the table when Valerie left, the trio focusing on the food. Halfway into the meal, Blake spoke up.

“What’d you get up to today, Leroy?”

Nonchalantly, Gibbs sopped up some gravy with his bread. “Talked to Earl Drummond.”

The drink paused on its way to Blake’s lips. “Oh? What’d he have to say?”

Gibbs shrugged as if talking about the weather. “Not much. Just talked about Jackson.” He speared a carrot. “Mentioned he didn’t see Dad when he signed the papers on any of the ranch sales.”

Blake covered his reaction by finishing his soda. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he sat back in the chair. “Jackson figured it’d save the lawyer a trip. We faxed in the paperwork and copies of his previous signatures. Drummond was happy enough with that.” Gibbs’ simple hum set Blake’s jaw. “Just what exactly are you gettin’ at?”

Rather than answer him directly, Gibbs turned to Jack. “Did I ever tell you about that time Jackson got swindled by some boys from Arkansas?”

She pretended to search her memory banks for the story. “Is that the one where he signed the papers, but they did something to falsify the numbers later? Something like that?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

“And then he started doing marks or something? I can’t remember what you told me.”

“I barely know what he did myself,” Gibbs admitted truthfully. “Some kinda code only the old man knew. Lines and dots, I couldn’t make sense of it.”

“Right!” Jack lightly slapped her forehead. “On the back of the paper. So he would know if any changes were made to the document.”

Blake watched the conversation get volleyed back and forth, and the realization began to dawn. 

Gibbs nodded to her but turned his attention back to Blake. “And you know, it’s the damnedest thing, but I can’t find a single mark on those originals.”

Not about to give up, Blake asked, “Anything else you find wrong about the papers? Dates wrong? Prices too low?”

“Nope,” Gibbs admitted.

“So, beyond you not bein’ able to find some scratch marks, everythin’ else was good.”

“Not the point.”

He threw his napkin on the table. “Then what is the point, Leroy? We gave them all fair value. We didn’t twist their arms.”

“Didn’t you?” Jack asked, the light gone from her voice. “You bought feed for more and you sold cattle for less. When the drought came through, you inflated hay prices but undercut the price of beef until the Montgomery herd starved in the pasture because they waited too long for the dollar value to get back to normal.” She was in full steam and Gibbs watched on in a kind of awe as she stood and placed her hands on the table. She didn’t raise her voice, allowing the contempt to bleed through. “You paid the Edgewater ranch hands more money to stay home than they made working. The Reeds had to mortgage their ranch to pay for Wallace’s cancer treatments, and the _second_ the bank foreclosed, you swooped in and bought it for a song. But yeah, everything was _good_.” 

Blake inched back at the verbal onslaught, but when she was done, he had the temerity to raise his chin. “Y’all can’t prove any of that.”

Gibbs discreetly touched the back of her leg, silently encouraging her to sit. She succumbed to his guidance, but kept her steely gaze on the man across the table. 

“You’re right,” Gibbs admitted. “We can’t prove any of that.” At her startled response, he rested his hand on her thigh. “But what I can do is call the 3 families and try an’ set things right. And give you until tomorrow to pack up your stuff and head out.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded cheque. “Not that I’m required to do it, but I know Jackson would’ve. He was a good man that way.” He felt Jack’s hand on top of his.

Blake dumbly took the offering, glanced at it and as the reality of the situation kicked in, his face hardened. “You can’t do this.”

“What?” Gibbs asked. “Is that not fair value?”

Hearing his own words used against him caused Blake to stand up sharply, knocking the chair over. “You can’t run this ranch without me,” he accused. “Just like your old man.” 

“No, no, no,” Jack said, standing just as quickly as Gibbs. She curled her hand around his forearm and turning her back to the table, she looked at him until he returned her attention. He saw a calmness in her eyes that seeped into his bones and the breath that was coming hard through his flared nostrils turned soft again.

“Maybe if I was sleepin’ with ya, I’d still have a job, huh?”

Blake’s taunt made her spin around and now it was Gibbs’ turn to be the soothing balm. “Hey, hey,” he whispered, using the same quiet attention she had given him. When he saw her fiery eyes turn soft and the fierce lines around her mouth disappear, he said, “There ya go.” Still, as Blake stormed out of the room, she reached for the nearest utensil and made a motion to throw it. Gibbs quickly reached for it, engulfing her hand in his. “We’re gonna need that for pie.” 

The words, so dry, so unexpectedly droll was the needle needed to let the tension out of the room and her fingers loosened from around the fork. 

“Wouldn’t bother me so much, but we haven’t even slept together yet.” The simple adverb, so full of promise sent heat to his lungs. She must’ve seen his reaction because she swayed her hips closer to his and brought her lips to his ear. “First, pie.”

…..

When the sparks finally stopped jumping along her nerve endings, when the muscles in her back and her neck and her arms had finally relaxed, when she felt like she could breathe again, the first words out of her mouth were, “I get it now.”

“Get what?” His voice rumbled up from between her legs.

Her fingers tried to soothe the scalp she had shamelessly mistreated. The short hair had just been enough to grip in a desperate fist when her hips had wantonly bucked up into his mouth and she knew her pleasure must have caused him a little pain. 

“Four wives. I get it now.”

He nipped the inside of her thigh in retaliation but it only made her laugh. He felt the tug, encouraging him to move up and he did, following the same leisurely route going up as he had done going down. Hot open kisses branded her hip bones, his mouth reacquainted itself with her breasts, and she wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get him to her lips because she held him there a little longer. Her little whine when he moved up only reinforced what he already knew and he pressed his grin under her ear. His victorious teasing was short lived when she reached between them and guided him inside.

“Jesus, Sloane,” he half whispered, half moaned, and she took advantage of his weakened state to flip him onto his back. 

“Rode bucs for 9 years,” she reminded him with a sultry grin when his eyes widened in surprise and her knees squeezed his sides to punctuate the point. 

She slipped her hand under her hair, lifting it to cool the heat at the base of her neck, and when her head tilted back, he found the hollow of her throat, counting her heartbeats with his fingertips. His free hand found a starting point on her knees and his calloused palm softly scratched its way over her toned thigh and to her breast, giving a gentle squeeze before both hands painted their way down again. Her eyes went dangerously dark as she looked down at him and he reflexively jutted his hips up in response. Her fingers went to her throat and she touched the suprasternal notch just as he had done, trailed down to her breast and teased her nipple to a hard point before moving lower. Her eyes never left his face, though his own gaze was too busy watching her fingers circle her navel then slip between them. Her low moan let him know she found exactly what she was looking for. His eyes went grey and his lips went dry.

“You like to watch, Cowboy?” His hips betrayed his attempt at a cool demeanour and she flashed a lazy grin. “I’ll remember that for next time. But for now,” she shifted on his lap, pressing her knees into the mattress, “I want to see if I can get you off in under 8 seconds.”

The bull riding term made him laugh softly, even as he was achingly hard. “Think ya got your terms mixed up.”

She raised up slightly, then lowered with deliberate slowness. “Do I?” she asked, rising and lowering again. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Nope,” he exhaled, self-control quickly leaving him. And when she replaced her hand with his, when her head tilted back and his name -his first name- escaped her lips like a benediction, it left him entirely. He would apologize later for the marks his free hand was surely going to leave on her hip as he pulled her down hard. His heels dug into the bed and his thighs strained and his lungs burned and he didn’t give a shit about any of it. He looked at her for as long as he could, wanting to carve the image of her whispering his name over and over into his memory. But his wants were soon overridden by his needs and he squeezed his eyes shut as they both gave in.

…..

The air did little to cool their heat as they lay sprawled across the mattress, breathless and satiated. She had just enough strength to graze his jaw with the back of her hand before dropping it onto his chest. “That… that was way more than 8 seconds. Guess I’ll just have to work harder.” He had just enough energy to laugh.

…..


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a very quick thanks to all those who read and reviewed and followed me when I took these characters into a different sandbox. Your willingness to let me tinker with them is always appreciated! Thanks to those who bought me coffee to keep me going! You can always check me out on tumblr if you want to be an enabler, too. Lol!

…..

Like death and storms, fires often made themselves known in the middle of the night, in the darkness when vulnerabilities were at their highest. That night was no different, and when the dog came charging into the room, barking them awake, both Gibbs and Jack knew something was terribly wrong. Throwing on clothes and stumbling in the dark, they made their way to the door, jamming their feet into boots and running outside. Even from their distance, they could see the bright orange glow.

“No!”

Gibbs grabbed her before she could take off. “Listen to me. Hey!” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen to me. We’ll take the truck. Call 911.” He waited for her nod before pulling her to the truck. She had the phone to her ear when the sirens began to wail. He cranked the key and slammed the gear into drive. “They’re already on their way, Jack.” The twin lights cut into the black as they ricocheted their way down the dirt road between the ranches. “Where is it?” he asked. 

“It’s the barn.” Her voice was flat and dead. “I will kill him.”

Gibbs didn’t have to ask who ‘him’ was. The events at dinner was all he needed to know. “Let’s put this out before we think about that.”

“Oh, I’m already thinking about it. All my feed, Gibbs. Everything but what I have out in the shelter. My horses.” The word made her cover her mouth. “Logan’s horse!” 

He was never going to make her a promise he couldn’t keep, but he said, “Jack, we’ll take care of it.”

Her eyes went hard. “Oh, you’re damn right we’ll take care of it.”

…..

They barely beat the fire trucks, the only 2 engines the town could afford. Behind them was a handful of men who had heard the sirens and followed them to the Sloane ranch. Before the truck had even come to a stop, Jack was out, her feet hitting the ground running. She threw open the gate and ran into the barn.

“Jack!”

Gibbs’ knee protested the strain but he didn’t care, pushing through the pain, caught by the image of her willingly running into a burning building. It was as she had suspected- with the storm only having been a day earlier, it was the feed that was on fire, the only thing that wasn’t soaked by the rain. The horses were a mess of panic, banging against the sides of their stalls, hooves scraping against the floors, nostrils and eyes wide. She ran down one side to unlatch the gates and he immediately went down the other. When she couldn’t get some of them to move, she slapped their haunches and pushed them out. Two other men had run inside and pulled the fearful animals the rest of the way. Water had already begun to drip through the roof as the fire crew got to work. 

But the damage had been done. 

They corralled the horses into the nearby pen and there was nothing they could do but watch the old barn burn. Jack’s mother had run out and the two Sloane women stood, huddled together in the fire’s burning glow. The booming crack when the roof finally caved in made them jump, and Gibbs stood behind them both, his hands on their shoulders, his body a silent support. 

Pete, who doubled as a volunteer fireman, came to the trio, face lined with sweat and smoke. “What the hell happened?”

“Blake Wilson is what the hell happened,” Jack bit out.

Both Pete and Julia looked at her. “What?” 

Gibbs reached into his pocket. “Found this near the feed.” 

Pete glanced down. “It’s a chew pack.”

“Yep,” Gibbs agreed. “Minty.”

The single word description spoke volumes. While Jack only had her suspicions, the chew was the evidence. They all knew there was only one man in town associated with the stuff.

“When I find him, I _will_ kill him.”

Pete held up his hands. “Now, Jack, don’t do or say anything stupid. We’ll find him and deal with him the right way.”

One of the volunteers spoke up. “Saw him at Judy’s Bar around closin’ time. Drunk as a skunk.”

“So where is he now?” Julia wondered, asking the question they were all thinking.

“Gotta be close,” Gibbs said. “It’s just after 3. Closin’ time still 2am?” Pete nodded. “Here to Main Street is 20 minutes. So he had to leave Judy’s, get here, set the fire and then what?”

“Doesn’t leave much time to get very far,” Jack agreed.

Gibbs’ head snapped up towards his ranch. Like a shot, he bolted to his truck, leaving the small group behind in his wake. Jack barely had time to shout out his name before the engine roared to life and he spun towards the dirt road. It was clear where he was headed, and she moved towards her own vehicle. But not before running into the house first.

…..

The barking dog saved Gibbs the time searching the property, and when he turned on the floodlights for the surrounding pens, he saw Blake teetering with a gas tank among the horses. Gibbs approached him slowly, but with intent. With a calming hand, he settled the dog before shouting, “Blake!”

The man spun around so fast he nearly toppled over. “Stay back!” he yelled. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a lighter and flipped back the metal lid. “I’ll do it.”

Blue growled low.

“You’ll set yourself on fire, jackass.”

Blake glanced down at the jerrycan. “You took everythin’ from me! I deserved this ranch, not you!”

Gibbs had no sympathy. “You don’t think the Edgewaters deserved their ranch? They never knew anythin’ other than growin’ up right here. Like you. For what? Money?”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Hotshot Football Star. Had all the talent in the world and pissed it away while the rest of us had to work for everythin’ we had.”

Gibbs was tired of the bullshit. “You think I didn’t work for what I got?” He heard Jack’s truck pull in, but he didn’t turn. “6am practices and Sunday games gettin’ my face pushed in the dirt by 350 pound linemen? Seein’ double but not tellin’ the coach because one goddamn mistake an’ I put everythin’ in jeopardy?” He threw up his hand in disgust. “This knee? It wasn’t the Steelers game that ended me. It was the game before, in San Diego. Hand off to the runnin’ back who goes and fumbles the damn thing. I fall on it and end up under 5 other guys fightin’ for the same thing. I knew it was over the second it happened but didn’t wanna say. Trainer wrapped it up at half time, put a brace on it and sent me out for the 3rd. I was on so many painkillers that I don’t even remember the 4th quarter. And you wanna tell me about pissin’ it all away?”

“But you still got out. And then you came back here to wreck everything.” Blake wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Takin’ the ranch, takin’ the best damn woman in town, takin’ everything like you own it. Shit, you took my goddamn dog!”

“Why the Sloane ranch?”

Blake spit. “Stupid bitch shoulda just signed the damn paper.”

The sound of a rifle hammer being cocked came from Jack’s direction. “Say that again,” she said, levelling the Winchester at Blake. “I dare you.”

“Does that thing actually fire?” Gibbs asked, hoping to diffuse her tension.

Her stare didn’t waver. “I’m hoping to find out.”

Gibbs held up his hands and realized his best course of action was disarming the one with the least amount of cold calculation. Stepping slowly closer, he said, “It’s over, Blake. Just put the can down.” 

“Do what he says, Blake.” The voice came from the side of the barn. Pete had parked his car behind the house and come around quietly on foot. With his gun drawn, he made his presence known.

Even in his drunken state, he realized he was outnumbered. He threw down the can and the lighter and tipped to one knee. Pete used the moment to quickly holster his gun and run to Blake, pushing him to the ground and cuffing his hands behind his back. Gibbs calmly walked up to Jack and gently took the rifle from with a soft shushing whisper and a kiss on the cheek. Yanked to his feet, Blake saw the exchange and muttered, “Bitch.” It was only the strength of Pete holding him up that stopped Jack’s right hook from dropping Blake to the ground.

“Consider yourself lucky Leroy took the gun away,” was all Pete said when Blake began to complain. To Gibbs and Jack he said, “We’ll let him sleep it off in jail and get a statement in the morning. I’ll need you to find time to come down and do the same.”

Gibbs nodded. “We’ll be there.”

They stood quietly while Pete and Blake walked out of sight around the house, then watched as the car pulled away and down the long drive. Blue chased it until it was out of sight.

Holding up the gun in the floodlight, Gibbs asked, “It’s not even loaded, is it?”

“Nope.”

Despite it all, he had to laugh.

…..

**Epilogue**

If there was one thing he was good at besides football, it was building things, and it didn’t take much to put up a new barn when a group of men led by Dave Hammond got together. By Sunday, they were just putting the finishing touches on the metal roof when a caravan of trucks and trailers came down the road.

“Stinson boys are here!” Hammond yelled from the roof. 

Jack wiped her brow and took off her gloves, greeting the men as they exited their trucks. “Don’t mind the mess, Ken.”

An older man of about 50 was the first to return her handshake. “I’d ask how y’all doin’, Jack, but we heard. Everybody okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. The barn and the feed went, but we got the horses out, so we’re grateful.”

“Looks like you’re gettin’ the barn right back up again.”

“We’ve got some good people around here,” she said. “Couldn’t have done it without them. Especially this one.” She tilted her head to an approaching Gibbs.

“Jethro Gibbs,” he said, extending his hand to the Texan.

The shake was firm but slow as he narrowed his eyes, obviously searching his memory bank for the name. His eyebrows rose when his brain found the connection. “The football player?”

Jack rested her hand between Gibbs’ shoulders but he was surprised that, while he appreciated the calming touch, he didn’t need it; he was finding he was learning to live with the past.

“Yeah, the football player,” Gibbs replied with a smile.

“Shit,” Ken said. “Buck, get over here. You’re never gonna believe who this is. Get the football outta the truck.”

“You have a football in your truck?” Jack asked.

He touched his cowboy hat. “Ma’am, we’re from Texas.” It was all he needed to say. 

With Ken’s attention turning to his brother, Jack rose up on tiptoes and whispered into Gibbs’ ear. “I’ve always wanted to be a cheerleader.”

Gibbs heard the seductive tease under the innocent comment, felt the promise of her fingers that somehow found their way under the edge of his T-shirt. Her eyes were cinnamon and gold and devilishly dangerous and she damn well knew it. With a sharp whistle, he got the attention of the men on the roof. 

“Dave!” 

“Yeah, Boss?”

“Get your boys down here. We’re gonna teach these Texans how to play football.”

Jack skimmed her finger along his jaw and brought his mouth to hers, kissing him like she meant it.

Blue barked his approval. 

-end


End file.
